Ark Royal

Christopher G. Nuttall

http://www.chrishanger.net
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Cover Blurb

If you wish for peace, prepare for war.
-Royal Navy Motto

Seventy years ago, the interstellar supercarrier Ark Royal was the pride of the Royal Navy.  But now, her weapons are outdated and her solid-state armour nothing more than a burden on her colossal hull.  She floats in permanent orbit near Earth, a dumping ground for the officers and crew the Royal Navy wishes to keep out of the public eye.  

But when a deadly alien threat appears, the modern starships built by humanity are no match for the powerful alien weapons.  Ark Royal and her mismatched crew must go on the offensive, buying time with their lives  And yet, with a drunkard for a Captain, an over-ambitious first officer and a crew composed of reservists and the dregs of the service, do they have even the faintest hope of surviving ...

... And returning to an Earth which may no longer be there?

There’s no real British space program – and the cynic in me doubts that there ever will be.  

But I can dream.
Chapter One

“Commodore?”

Commodore Sir Theodore Smith opened his eyes and glared at his wristcom, lying where he’d left it on his bedside table.  His mouth tasted foul, reminding him that he’d drunk several pints of ship-brewed rotgut before staggering into his bunk and going to bed.  The ship’s doctor would probably want a few words with him later; regulations might not frown on officers and crewmen drinking when they weren't on duty, but ship-brewed alcohol wasn't always healthy.

“Yes,” he growled, pushing the thought aside.  God, he needed a drink.  “What is it?”

“There's a priority-one message from the Admiralty,” Midshipwoman Lopez said.  There were times when Ted wondered just who the young woman had pissed off at Portsmouth Naval Training Base.  Ark Royal was no posting for an ambitious and capable young officer.  “They request your immediate presence at Nelson Base.”

Ted blinked in surprise.  He'd always had the impression that Nelson Base preferred to forget that Ark Royal – and her drunkard of a commander – existed.  They were an embarrassment, a relic of Britain’s first step into interstellar power.  If Ark Royal hadn't been famous, she would probably have been broken up for scrap or sold to a third-rate power by now.  And if Ted hadn't been a drunkard, he might have been promoted to Admiral.

“I’m on my way,” he said, finally.  Urgent summons from the Admiralty were almost never good news.  “Have my shuttle prepared.”

He stumbled out of bed, then reached into his drawer and removed a stimulant tab, which he pressed against his forearm.  Once, it had seemed a wise precaution; now, he honestly didn't know why he bothered.  But it had paid off for him, he had to admit, as he felt the drug working its way through his body.  He wouldn't go into the meeting, whatever it was, suffering from the aftermath of too much drinking.

Biting down a series of curses, he stepped into the washroom and glared at his face in the mirror.  His hair had gone white years ago; his face was marred with stubble.  He rapidly ran a shaver over his cheekbones and jaw, then stepped into the shower and washed himself rapidly.  Outside, he pulled on the dark blue dress uniform favoured by Her Majesty’s Navy, then checked his appearance in the mirror.  He might not look as perfect as the men and women on the recruiting posters, he knew, but at least he looked presentable.

He left his cabin and strode through the ship towards the shuttlebay.  By now, he could have found his way around his ship blindfold.  Ted had spent fifty years in the British Navy and most of them had been spent on Ark Royal, a position that had been intended as a punishment for carelessness as a young Lieutenant.  Somehow, he’d been promoted upwards until he reached Captain and then Commodore, although the ranks were partly worthless.  Ark Royal wouldn't see action unless the Navy was desperate.

She was seventy years old, the first true interstellar carrier put into space by the British Navy – and a piece of living history.  Civilians found her box-like shape ugly as hell, but Ted loved her for what she was.  Over the years, keeping Ark Royal in something resembling fighting trim had become an obsession, one that had consumed his life.  He sometimes wondered if the Navy had known what it was doing by assigning him to the carrier, or if it had been sheer luck.  He pushed the thought aside as he scrambled into his shuttle and nodded to the pilot to take them to Nelson Base.  No doubt the Navy had its reasons for the urgent summons.

Space was filled with activity, he realised, as the shuttle headed towards Nelson Base.  There were military starships everywhere; American, Russian, Chinese, European, Japanese and several smaller nations, all frantically preparing for operations.  Ted eyed them in surprise, then activated the shuttle’s datanet and scanned for answers.  There was nothing, beyond a general alert from the Admiralty.  Ted felt his eyes narrow.  The First Space Lord might have decided to call an unscheduled exercise, but that wouldn't have affected the other interstellar powers.  Something was definitely up.

Nelson Base was a giant station, hanging in geostationary orbit over Britain.  It was actually older than Ark Royal, although it had been extensively modified in the ninety years since it had been constructed and then activated.  Ted frowned as there was a series of security checks, all of which had to be cleared before the shuttle was allowed to dock.  Inside, a pair of armed Royal Marines escorted him to the First Space Lord’s office.  But what was going on?

“Commodore Smith,” the First Space Lord said, as Ted was escorted through the hatch and into the office.  “Please, have a seat.”

Ted nodded.  The First Space Lord had once been a classmate of his, years ago.  They’d gone through Portsmouth together.   Now, one of them was the most powerful uniformed officer in the service and the other ... was a drunkard in command of a carrier most officers regarded as a national embarrassment.  The First Space Lord had put on a little weight, he noted, but his hair was still as red as ever.  Ted wondered, in a moment of insight, if his old friend dyed his hair.  He’d certainly been vain when they’d been younger.

The hatch opened again, revealing a thin-faced young man wearing a Captain’s uniform, but without a ship name on the jacket.  Ted scowled, not liking the implications.  By long tradition, the only people allowed to claim the rank of Captain were actual starship commanders.  In some ways, it was possible to be both a Commodore and a Captain, although Ted himself was a special case.  It didn't mean he drew two salaries.

“Captain Fitzwilliam,” the First Space Lord said.  The newcomer managed a perfect salute; Ted found himself disliking him on sight.  “Be seated.”

He waited for the newcomer to seat himself, then continued.  “There has been an incident,” he said.  “The Vera Cruz colony has been attacked.”

Ted frowned.  War seemed the only reasonable explanation for so much military activity in Earth orbit, but Vera Cruz?  If he recalled correctly, the world was on the edge of the expanding sphere of human settlement – and not really considered worth fighting over.  The Mexicans had won the settlement rights and started to settle the planet.  But who would have attacked the planet?  There wasn't anything worth taking.

“To be precise, the attack was carried out by aliens,” the First Space Lord continued.  “There have been three more attacks since then, although we only found out about them seven hours ago.  News moves slowly along the edge of the sphere.”

“Aliens?”  Ted repeated.  He would have sooner believed in pirates than aliens.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” the First Space Lord said.  “We recovered little useful data from Vera Cruz, but both the Chinese mining colony orbiting IAS-73782 and the independent settlement on Maxwell’s World had small starships that managed to escape the attackers.  The starships that attacked the planets were completely unknown.  This is the dawn of an interstellar war.”

Ted swallowed.  In three hundred years of expansion, ever since the Puller Drive had been invented, humanity hadn't encountered another intelligent race.  The highest form of life outside Earth had been a whale-like creature on an oceanic world.  Humanity, once convinced that aliens were everywhere, had slowly come to believe that they were alone in the universe.

“We do not know why the aliens attacked the colonies,” the First Space Lord said.  “So far, all attempts to communicate have simply been ignored.  We do know that humanity is at war.  The Vulcan Protocols have been activated.”

“... Shit,” Ted said.  

The Vulcan Protocols had been a theoretical study, nothing more.  They harked back to a time when alien contact and interstellar war was seen as a very real possibility.  In theory, the human race – or at least the major spacefaring powers – was obliged to unite in defence of humanity, putting all grudges aside.  Ted rather suspected that it wouldn't be that easy to actually make it happen in practice.

“We will, of course, hope for a diplomatic solution,” the First Space Lord said.  “However, we are currently preparing for the worst.  How long will it take before Ark Royal is ready for deployment, assuming an unlimited budget and workforce?”

That was something Ted had worked on ever since he’d been promoted into the command chair, no matter how meaningless it had seemed.  “Two weeks if we cut corners, four if we take it slowly,” he said.  “But the crew would have to be experienced.”

Captain Fitzwilliam gaped at him.  “Four weeks?”

Ted laughed.  “Do you think that I spend my days engaging in rum, sodomy and the lash?”

The First Space Lord nodded.  “I am pleased to hear that your time on the vessel has not been wasted,” he said.  “However, it is felt that someone new should take command of Ark Royal.”

Ted felt cold ice trickling down his spine as he realised where this was leading.  “Captain Fitzwilliam will assume command of Ark Royal,” the First Space Lord informed him.  “You will supervise the refitting and then ...”

The ice flashed into anger.  Ted had served on Ark Royal for forty-four years.  He was familiar with every last inch of her decks – and with every new component his skeleton crew had installed over the years.  Their surprise at the short time it would need to have the ship prepped for service was quite understandable ... but they didn't realise that he hadn't spent his time drunk out of his mind.  No, he'd been keeping the old girl as close to readiness as possible.  They hadn't even been paying attention to the supplies he’d requisitioned over the years!

“No,” he said, simply.

The First Space Lord lifted his eyebrows.  It was a breach of military formality to interrupt one’s superior, unless it was a matter of life and death.  

Ted turned to face Captain Fitzwilliam, fighting to keep his voice even.  “Are you familiar with the modifications we have made to our Mark-IV normal space drive?  Are you aware of the problems in flying Buccaneer bombers off the flight decks?  Do you understand the outdated computer cores we have not been able to replace?  Do you realise that half our small craft component is actually outdated?  Do you understand the limitations of our onboard weapons systems?”

He looked back at the First Space Lord.  “I'm sure that Captain Fitzwilliam is a fine officer,” he said, knowing that he would either secure his career or destroy it.  “But he hasn't trained on anything remotely comparable to Ark Royal.  There is very little standard about her, sir; her internal systems are a mixture of modern technology and outdated technology that cannot be replaced without tearing up the hull.  Are you aware, for example, that we cannot mount a modern sensor node on the hull?  When switched to active mode, they will blind her inner systems.  We actually have to use sensor probes and outriders to expand our sensor range.”

“That’s absurd,” Captain Fitzwilliam protested.  “What sort of system would be designed to blind its carrier?”

“It isn't,” Ted assured him.  “A modern carrier wouldn't have a problem.  Ark Royal, however, was designed as a solid-state entity.  She was built to survive.  We cannot replace the older systems without tearing the hull wide open, which would take far longer than four weeks.  We'd be looking at nine months, at best.”

He smiled at the younger man.  “Still feel like you can take command of my ship?”

Captain Fitzwilliam’s face darkened, but he held his temper.  Ted was privately impressed.  He had no illusions about what navy scuttlebutt said about him; it was unlikely in the extreme that any young officer would look up to him as someone to be emulated.  It was rather more likely that they considered his career to be a nightmare.  Someone edging towards squadron or fleet command would be horrified at the idea of spending forty-four years on the same ship.  It wasn't the mark of a promising officer.  

“You’ve made your point,” the First Space Lord said.  “But four weeks is a rather short time for a complete refit.”

“I should have sent you flypaper reports,” Ted said, remembering one of the classes they’d shared at Portsmouth.  An officer, pestered for paperwork he didn't have, had started sending reports on the number of flies killed by flypaper while on deployment.  The whole episode had been used as a warning of the dangers of too much bureaucracy.  “Didn't anyone ever read my reports?”

He shook his head a moment later.  The only ship considered less likely to go into battle was Lord Nelson’s Victory, which was – technically – the First Space Lord’s flagship.  But as Victory was a sailing ship, it was unlikely the First Space Lord had spent any time on her since the commission.  She normally served as a tourist attraction.

“I will take your word for it,” the First Space Lord said.  His tone suggested that if it took longer than four weeks to get Ark Royal ready for deployment, Ted could start looking for a new job.  “Captain Fitzwilliam will serve as your XO.”

Ted swallowed a curse – and, beside him, Captain Fitzwilliam didn't look any happier.  For one of them, there would be an XO looking for a place to plant the knife; for the other, there was an effective demotion.  There was only one Captain on a starship and it wouldn't be Fitzwilliam.  Unless, of course, Ted failed to make good on his boast.  Silently, he promised himself that he would read through Captain Fitzwilliam’s file as soon as possible.  He didn't even know the man's first name!

“Thank you, sir,” he said, finally.  “Might I enquire as to deployment plans?”

“The UN Security Council is meeting in emergency session,” the First Space Lord said.  he jerked a finger towards the deck – and Earth, far below.  “For the moment, the Admiralty is concentrating on protecting Britannia and contributing to the defence of Earth.  We assume that we will be making future deployments once the Vulcan Protocols are fully activated, but as yet we don’t have any details.”

Ted nodded.  Britannia was Britain’s largest possession, a colony world with over a billion settlers from Earth.  The British Commonwealth had worked hard to both settle the planet and build up local industry, taking advantage of the latest UN environmental regulations to encourage corporations and private individuals to move to Britannia.  There was no way the Government would leave the planet uncovered, even if it meant drawing ships away from Earth.  Indeed, Ted had been surprised that Ark Royal hadn't been moved to Britannia long ago.

There were other colonies, including a handful of mining settlements and a stake on an Earth-like world that might become a second colony soon enough, but Britannia was too important to lose.  The Royal Navy stationed seven of its twelve modern carriers in the system permanently, while the other five were never far away.  It seemed unlikely that anyone could break through the defences and take the planet.

He scowled.  Humanity hadn't really fought an interstellar war.  Sure, there had been the skirmishes between Edo and Ghandi, or the confrontation between Washington and Confucius over a third system, but nothing that had broken out into general war.  Hell, there were even agreements that Earth and the Sol System would remain neutral if war actually did break out.  No one really knew how the latest military technology would work in open warfare.  There were simulations and exercises, but they were never as useful as the real thing.  

And now there was an alien threat.  What sort of technology would they have?

“So far, the media has not caught wind of the threat,” the First Space Lord informed him, shortly.  “The Prime Minister and other world leaders has ordered a total blackout.  However, I do not expect that to last long.  Rumours are already flying around the datanet and it won’t be long before someone breaks the blackout.  It will certainly be broken when we start calling up reserves and conscripting civilians.

“Go back to your ship, taking your new XO with you,” he continued.  “Requisition whatever you need; I’ll do my best to make sure you have it.  If we’re lucky, this will all blow over, but I rather doubt it.”

Ted nodded in agreement.  The aliens had just attacked.  Unprovoked, as far as anyone knew, they’d just attacked – and not one colony, but four.  It suggested either unhealthy confidence or careful observation of humanity before opening fire.  Ted wouldn't have been surprised to discover that the aliens had surveyed the entire human sphere.  There was enough civilian traffic moving through interstellar space to conceal a handful of alien spy ships, if the aliens showed up on sensors at all.  Whatever the civilians might think, there was plenty of space between the planets to hide the entire human fleet.

They think they can win, Ted thought.  He shivered at the thought.  Only a fool would start a war they didn't think they could win.  What do they want?

“Yes, sir,” he said, pushing his thoughts aside.  The prospect of actually taking his ship into harm’s way galvanised him.  “I won’t let you down.”

He rose to his feet and saluted, as smartly as he could.  Captain Fitzwilliam – no, he’d be a Commander now – followed, his face blank and unreadable.  Ted sighed, inwardly.  Fitzwilliam would have a major chip on his shoulder after being told he would be given command – and then watching as it was snatched away from him.  Ted wouldn't really blame him for being irked, but he couldn't afford the distraction of a sulking XO.  They would have to talk and hash it out, perhaps over a drink ...

No, Ted told himself, firmly.  A drunkard could not take command of a ship that was going into action.  That was plain common sense.  You are not going to drink until the war is over.

Chapter Two

Captain James Montrose Fitzwilliam had to fight to keep his annoyance and disappointment from showing on his face as he followed his new commanding officer through the metallic corridors of Nelson Base.  It had seemed so perfect.  His uncle – a high-ranking officer – had known about the alert in time for James to attempt to push himself forward as Ark Royal’s commander.  A modern carrier would have required an officer with more experience – the old boy’s network went only so far – but Ark Royal didn't have such stringent requirements.  He could have taken command – and, in becoming the youngest commanding officer in the Royal Navy, ensured his swift promotion to command of a more modern starship.

But Commodore – Captain, he reminded himself – Smith had talked the Admiral into leaving him in command of Ark Royal.  The hell of it was, James knew, was that Smith might not be too far wrong.  James had served on two carriers and a frigate, but all three of them had been modern ships.  Britannia had barely been out of the slips when he'd served as her tactical officer.  But Ark Royal was over seventy years old.  She might well be harder to command than a more modern vessel.

Resentment bubbled at the corner of his mind, muted by the grim awareness that Smith might have saved him from embarrassment – or worse.  He wouldn't gain experience of serving as XO on a modern carrier if he served on Ark Royal – and he wouldn't gain command experience to offset the starship’s age.  His career might just have been frozen solid, as solid as Smith’s own ... and he'd done it to himself.  How could he reasonably blame Smith for wanting to keep command?  He wanted command!

They entered the shuttlebay and passed a handful of elaborate security checks before boarding the tiny ship.  Smith spoke briefly to the pilot, then settled back in his chair and closed his eyes.  James eyed him thoughtfully, wondering just what the older man was thinking.  Relief, perhaps, that he’d retained his command?  Or irritation at having a new XO thrust down his throat?  But then, Ark Royal hadn't had an official XO since she’d been placed in the reserves.  Smith had effectively been his own XO.

The shuttle quivered as it floated out of the shuttlebay and headed towards the naval reserve yards, where Ark Royal was waiting.  James couldn't help a flicker of excitement as he leaned forward, peering out the porthole for his first glimpse of the massive carrier.  Even if he wasn't going to take command, he would still be serving on her – and the first sight of a new starship was always special.  Dozens of other shuttles and tiny starships floated through Earth’s crowded orbital space, their sheer multitude a sign that something was badly wrong.  It was only a matter of time, James knew, before the news media discovered what was going on.  And then ...

He swallowed, feeling a curious tension at the base of his throat.  Unless it was all a big misunderstanding, they were going to be going to war – with aliens.  It was a staggering thought.  No one had anticipated aliens, not really.  The Royal Navy had confronted Chinese and Russian starships over brief disputes over mining and settlement rights, but there had been no major shooting war since the Puller Drive had been invented.  And yet ... he wondered, suddenly, just why so many resources had been poured into the military.  All of the major spacefaring powers had built up their navies, often at staggering cost.  Had they known there was a potential outside threat?

But humans aren't known for being peaceable, he thought, snidely.  If we didn't keep up with our defences, our human enemies would overwhelm us.

The shuttle quivered again as Ark Royal came into view.  James sucked in his breath, drinking in the details; the giant carrier was larger than he’d realised ... and cruder.  The elegant lines of modern carriers – to say nothing of civilian starships – were missing.  Instead, she was a boxy hulk, studded with weapons and sensor blisters.  Four fighter launch tubes protruded out of her hull, each one wrapped in heavy armour.  Ark Royal was as much battleship as she was carrier, he recalled from the briefing notes.  The naval doctrine of her time had insisted that carriers had to be able to take damage as well as dish it out.  It was one of the reasons her rate of acceleration was so slow.

“Half of the weapons have been replaced over the years,” Smith said.  “Our tactical system had to be modified extensively just to handle them.”

James jumped.  He hadn't realised Smith was watching him.  The back of his neck heated as he turned to face his commanding officer, realising that he had no choice, but to do his job to the best of his ability.  Connections, no matter how highly placed, wouldn't be enough to save him if his commanding officer wrote a negative review.  And besides, he had asked for it.

“She’s magnificent, sir,” he said, and meant it.  “How well does she handle?”

“Like a wallowing pig,” Smith said.  “There aren’t many real improvements we could make to the drives without tearing the whole rear section apart and replacing them completely.”

The shuttle altered course, allowing him to see every last detail of the carrier’s hull.  James had to admit that she looked good, if crude.  She might have been in the reserves, but her crew hadn't been allowed to slack off ... even if they had felt they’d been exiled to the ass end of nowhere.  He felt an odd flicker of admiration for Smith.  The man might have a reputation for drinking, yet he'd managed to keep his command in shape.

Smith keyed his terminal as the shuttle straightened out and headed towards the shuttlebay.  “I’m calling the senior crew to the shuttlebay,” he said, by way of explanation.  “There won’t be a formal welcoming party, I’m afraid, but I’ll introduce you to the senior officers.  You can meet the others later, once we’re more organised.”

“Yes, sir,” James said.  There were senior officers who would be furious if the formalities were ignored, but he saw Smith’s point.  Ark Royal’s reserve crew didn't have the manpower to put on a display.  He swallowed again as he realised the depth of his own ignorance.  Ark Royal’s crew knew far more than him about their starship’s condition.  “I look forward to it.”

Smith smiled.  The shuttle landed – there was a faint shiver as the shuttle’s artificial gravity field merged with the starship’s internal field – and the hatch hissed open.  James rose to his feet and followed Smith out of the hatch and into the shuttlebay, looking around with considerable interest.  The shuttlebay looked as crude as the starship’s interior, but it was clearly kept in good shape.  Two more shuttles, both partly cannibalised for spare parts, sat on the other side of the giant compartment.  They looked oddly pitiful to James’s eyes.

It took him a moment to realise that something was missing ... and several more moments to realise what it was.  The omnipresent background noise from the starship’s drives was simply absent.  James felt his eyes narrow, then realised that most of the drives and their fusion cores would have been shut down while the starship remained in the reserves.  There was no point in placing further wear and tear on equipment that was effectively irreplaceable.

They stepped through the airlock and into the welcoming lounge.  James saluted the flag, then straightened automatically as he saw four officers waiting for them.  All four of them looked alarmingly dishevelled, as if they’d only just climbed out of their bunks.  They didn't seem to have much pride in themselves, he realised grimly, and yet there was something about them that kept him from dismissing them automatically.  He couldn't place his finger on it.

“Welcome aboard,” Smith said.  “Commander Fitzwilliam, please allow me to introduce Alan Anderson, Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Daniel Lightbridge, Helmsman, Lieutenant Commander Keith Farley, Tactical Officer and Midshipwoman Janelle Lopez.”

There was a long moment as they exchanged salutes.  James studied them, silently promising to read their files as soon as possible.  Anderson looked tough; his left arm had been replaced with a metallic prosthetic that made no attempt to pass for natural flesh and blood.  Like most senior engineering crew, James knew, he would have spent most of his career on Ark Royal, working his way up the ranks to Chief Engineer.  Chances were that he wouldn't have a hope of another posting, even if Ark Royal were to be permanently decommissioned.  His experience would be years out of date.

Lightbridge was a tall black man, his bald head gleaming in the cold light from overhead.  He held himself so still that it seemed almost unnatural, although there was a hint of easy competence in his stance.  All helmsmen, at least in James’s experience, resented not being starfighter pilots and tended to put their ships through exaggerated manoeuvres purely to prove they could.  Ark Royal probably wouldn't be able to tolerate it, he guessed, making another mental note to check the files.  Just who had Lightbridge pissed off to be posted to the ancient carrier?

Keith Farley, by contrast, seemed permanently uncertain of his capabilities.  The name was oddly familiar, but it took James several moments to remember a naval bulletin that had named and shamed an officer who’d managed to ram an asteroid, a feat that should have been impossible.  No doubt part of the story had been missing, he decided, as he eyed Farley carefully.  He should have been kicked out of the navy if he'd actually rammed an asteroid.

Midshipwomen Lopez was a surprise.  She was tall and slim, with a dark complexion and long dark hair that fell down her back.  Naval uniforms were  far from flattering, but James couldn't help noticing the swell of her breasts and the shape of her hips.  What was she doing on the ship?  James wondered, sourly, if she was having a relationship with one of the other crewmen.  Being assigned to Ark Royal was career death, to all intents and purposes.  The thought made him scowl, bitterly.  His own career might have been killed ... and he'd done it to himself.

“You can meet everyone formally later,” Smith said.  He raised his voice, addressing his officers.  “Briefing Room A, ten minutes.”

James nodded and followed Smith through the starship’s interior.  The corridors were bare; every few metres, a hatch lay open, revealing the starship’s innards.  James cringed, remembering just what his first CO had said when a hatch had been left open accidentally, then realised that Ark Royal’s crew didn't have much choice.  There was so much to do and so few of them to actually do it.  He was mildly surprised that there was no dust in the corridors; indeed, it seemed that the whole ship was surprisingly clean.  

He paused as he heard a dull rumble echoing through the ship.  “What was that?”

“Test cycle for Fusion Five,” Smith said.   “We test one of the six fusion cores each day, just to make sure that they are still operational.  Losing one of them would be irritating.”

“More than irritating,” James said, recalling his earlier thoughts.  “Could they be replaced, if necessary?”

“We’d have to have the cores built specially for Ark Royal,” Smith said.  He smirked, as if something amusing had just struck him.  “Not the only such problem, of course.  We couldn't get the different generations of computer cores to work together, no matter what the manufacturer claimed.  In the end, we had to splice in a Chinese system we scrounged up from somewhere, just to provide a bridging system.  If we have to replace the cores, we can probably improve on the design and cut out half of the cost.”

James stared at him.  “You have a Chinese computer system attached to the ship?”

“Among others,” Smith said.  He seemed to be enjoying James’s discomfort.  “As I told you, we’ve had to improvise.”

Briefing Room A looked as though it had been reassuringly normal, once.  A large table sat in the middle of the compartment, surrounded by chairs ... half of which were piled high with boxes.  Judging by the markings, James decided, Smith and his crew had laid claim to thousands of outdated spare parts that would otherwise have been sold to civilians or simply discarded for scrap.  Probably the former, he told himself, after a moment.  Even outdated military surplus would be useful for civilian starship crews.

“Find a seat,” Smith said.  “We’ll start in a moment.”

James hesitated, then took one of the handful of empty seats and watched as Midshipwoman Lopez entered, carrying a tray of mugs.  There was a large bottle beside the mugs, he noticed as she put the tray down on the table, but it was completely unmarked.  If it came from a still on Ark Royal – technically against regulations, yet he’d never served on a ship that didn't have a still – it might well be very strong indeed.

“Be seated,” Smith ordered as his officers entered the compartment.  “We have a great deal to discuss.”

It seemed remarkably informal to James, but he realised – as the officers sat down and reached for their mugs  - that they shared a camaraderie that bound them together, no matter how poor their grasp of naval discipline seemed to be.  Smith had forged a good team, he suspected, although they had never been tested in the fire.  But then, very few officers had any experience with interstellar combat.  A great many officers and men were going to be tested soon.

“There have been developments,” Smith said, quietly.  He briefly ran through what the Admiral had told them, ending with the statement that Ark Royal was going to return to active service.  “We have a month – perhaps less – to ready ourselves for combat.”

“Aliens,” Anderson repeated.  “Not another race of Alien Space Bats, I hope?”

James had to smile.  The Alien Space Bats had been a hoax, perpetrated by bored asteroid miners years ago, back when humanity hadn't yet left the Sol System.  By the time the miners had finally confessed to the hoax, countless academics had been taken in and wasted thousands of hours trying to make contact with the enigmatic aliens.  The affair had dented so many otherwise reputable careers that many scientists had refused to believe it when spacers had reported discovering non-intelligent life forms on several extra-solar worlds.

“There have been deaths,” Smith said.  “And it isn't just us.  Every spacefaring power is bringing its military to full alert.”

There was a long pause as they contemplated the end of peace.  James knew that MI6 knew the strengths and weaknesses of the other human interstellar powers ... but they knew nothing about the enigmatic alien threat.  Unless he’d been right, he told himself, and enough people had known to start preparing the human race for contact.  And yet ... surely the secret would have leaked out by now.  Humanity’s governments were very poor at keeping secrets.

“We should have our new crewmen assigned to us within the week,” Smith said, before anyone could start discussing the potential nature of the threat.  “Once we do, I want to move ahead with a full rejuvenation of the ship.”  He looked over at Anderson.  “We’ll go with Option Alpha, I think, and concentrate on our war-fighting capabilities first.”

“Understood,” Anderson said, gruffly.  “We will need to clear the launch bays before we can start taking on new fighters.”

“It may be a while before we get them,” Smith said.  “They’ll all have to be removed from storage and checked out before they’re sent to us.”

James blinked in surprise.  The carrier had no fighters?

“They might send us the older models,” Farley suggested.  “I don’t think that many of the newer carriers could handle them.”

“We will check it out,” Smith said.  He looked from face to face.  “This isn't a drill, but a real situation.  We – the entire human race – are going to war with a threat of unknown power and motivation.  All we really know about them is that they’re hostile.  I expect each and every one of you to do your duty.”

“Of course, sir,” Anderson said.  He patted the table affectionately.  “The old lady will do her duty too.”

Smith smiled.  “Of course she will,” he agreed.  He stood, then paused.  “As yet, there has been no formal announcement of the situation.  I imagine that will change, soon enough, but until then please don’t mention it in your v-mails.  It would be inconvenient to have to break you out of prison.”

James had to smile at the weak joke, although he knew that Smith was right.  It wouldn't be long before word got out – and, once it did, there would be panic.  No wonder the Admiral had wanted to get as much done as possible before the news hit the media datanet.  But something would definitely leak once the reserves were called up ...

Of course it will, he thought, tartly.  The reserves haven’t been called up for anything other than mandatory training in years.

Smith waited for the officers to leave the compartment, then turned to James.  “I want you to familiarise yourself as quickly as possible with the crew and our internal systems,” he ordered, shortly.  “Once we get the first set of reservists, I want you to handle their integration into the ship’s crew.  My current set of officers will have seniority, regardless of actual time served.  We can’t afford unpractised officers trying to take command, not now.”

“Understood,” James said, recognising the unspoken warning.  He was an unpractised officer, at least on Ark Royal.  There was no alternative, but to study the ship as quickly as possible and figure out just what improvements had been made to the original systems.  “I won’t let you down.”

Chapter Three

“But it wasn't my fault!”

Kurt Schneider gritted his teeth as he drove away from the school, silently cursing his teenage daughter under his breath.  It was her fault, he knew, that he had been summoned out of work early just to hear the headteacher explain, in great detail, precisely why Penny had been summarily suspended from school for two weeks.  And then – and then – he’d been warned that if her behaviour didn't improve, she would be permanently expelled and forced to find another school.

“It really wasn't,” Penny whined.  “I didn't mean to get into a fight ...”

“You told your teacher that she was a right stupid cow,” Kurt growled.  The recording of the whole incident had been shocking.  “And your headteacher was quite right to say your behaviour was unacceptable.”

“But she kept changing the rules,” Penny insisted.  “I ...”

“Shut up,” Kurt snapped, massaging his temples.  It had been a long day even before the call had come from school.  “When we get home, we are going to have a proper talk about your conduct.”

Penny snorted, crossed her arms under her breasts and stared out the window, sulking in a pose that was as old as humanity itself.  Kurt glared at her, wondering just when his sweet little daughter had become a monster, then turned his attention back to the road.  If his wife hadn't thought that Polly – and her brother Percy – deserved an expensive education, they wouldn't be forced into pointless classes ... and he wouldn't have to work such long hours just to keep them in school.  He loved his children, really he did, but he wasn't in the mood to put up with an argument.

She didn't say a word until he finally pulled up outside the house, whereupon she jumped out of the car and flounced inside, no doubt hoping to get her side of the story over to her mother first.  Kurt sighed, closing his eyes for a long moment of rest, then opened the door and climbed out of the car.  Inside, he could already hear Molly shouting at her daughter.  His wife didn't sound pleased at all.  She’d yell at Penny ... and then, Kurt knew, she’d yell at him.  It was funny how his daughter became his sole responsibility whenever she was in trouble.

Sighing, he walked up the garden path and into the house.  Molly stood in the kitchen, her hands on her hips, glaring menacingly at Penny, who was shouting back at her.  It struck Kurt, not for the first time, that Penny was very much a younger version of her mother, complete with blonde hair and a powerful pair of lungs.  Kurt sighed again, then blinked in surprise as Molly marched over to him and shoved a piece of paper into his hand.  It was a printout of a email, he realised, as he unfolded it and read quickly.  And it was calling him back to duty.

“You are grounded for the next two weeks,” Molly snarled at Penny.  “Go to your room and stay there!”

Penny didn't go quietly.  Kurt heard her stamping up the stairs, then slamming the door to her bedroom hard enough to shake the house.  He ignored it with the ease of long practice as he reread the sheet of paper.  The Royal Navy wanted him back in the service, as soon as possible.

“Well?”  Molly demanded.  “What’s all this about?”

Kurt gritted his teeth, again.  His head was already pounding and her razor-sharp words were cutting through what remained of his composure.  The message didn't leave any room for evasion, he realised dully.  He was ordered to report to the nearest naval base at once or face the consequences.  And those consequences could be quite serious.

“They’re calling me back to the flag,” he said, softly.  He swallowed, then nodded.  “I’ll have to call my boss.”

“Now see here,” Molly snapped.  “I thought you wouldn’t have to go back on active duty ...”

Kurt rubbed his forehead.  They’d met when he’d been a starfighter pilot, resplendent in his dark blue uniform.  But a starfighter pilot didn’t earn much and, when Penny had been born, he’d resigned from the service and gone into business.  The thought of getting back in a cockpit was staggering, but it had been years ... he shook his head.  There was no room to evade his duty.  He’d signed up to the reserves and pocketed the extra cash.  In exchange, he had to drop everything when his country called.

“There isn't a choice,” he said, tiredly.  Mentally, he catalogued what he’d need.  He kept an overnight bag under the bed; he’d just have to check it, then add anything else he needed before departing.  And then he’d have to hire a taxi ... he couldn't take the car, not if he was going away for longer than a few hours.  “We took the money, remember?”

Molly’s face darkened, unpleasantly.  She obsessed over the children, insisting that they received the best of everything, from food to education.  Both of them had genuinely believed that Kurt would never be asked to return to duty, apart from the mandatory week of training and exercises all reservists were expected to undertake.  But they’d been wrong.

“I signed the papers,” Kurt reminded her, before she could explode again.  “If I don’t respond to the call, I could be jailed.  And then there would be no one to feed the family.”

Molly sniffed as he turned and walked upstairs, wincing slightly at the sound of loud and obscene music coming from Penny’s room.  Molly had spoilt her daughter, he told himself tiredly.  There were days when he wondered if they would be called to jail to bail Penny out of trouble.  If, of course, they could ... it had been his fault too, he knew, but he was hardly ever there.  How could he spend quality time with his family while earning enough to keep the kids in school?

Shaking his head, he walked into the bedroom and picked up his overnight bag.  He checked it carefully, then slung it over his shoulder and walked back downstairs.  Penny was already there, her face blotchy with tears.  Kurt rolled his eyes, not bothering to conceal his reaction.  Why the hell was Penny crying?  She was probably looking forward to a few days off school.

“You’d better write to me as soon as possible,” Molly said, sternly.  “And this young lady” – she nodded towards Penny – “will be doing plenty of chores around the house.”

Penny looked rebellious.  Kurt reached out and gave her a hug, then turned to face Molly.  His wife looked tired, but grimly determined.  Kurt silently thanked God that he wouldn't be there to hear the coming argument.  Molly would know, even if Penny didn't, just how vital it was that she stayed in the expensive school.  If nothing else, they would lose the rest of the year’s payments if Penny was expelled.

Walking outside, he saw a taxi moving along the street and waved, hastily.  The taxi pulled up beside the curve, allowing him to climb inside.  He gave the address of the nearest aerospace base – he could report in to any military base, whereupon he would be directed to his muster point – and settled back, feeling his headache slowly fade away.  Being away from the children and his wife certainly seemed to make him feel better, no matter how unpleasant it sounded.  Just what had he been thinking, he asked himself, when he’d married her?

You were distracted by her enormous knockers, he thought, ruefully.  No, that wasn't entirely fair.  Molly had been charming as well as attractive – and she could still be charming, when she wanted to be.  But she spent most of her time with the kids while he was at work, which made it harder for them to relax and just be themselves.  Maybe the break would do him good ... but what the hell was going on?  The last time he’d reported for training exercises had been seven months ago.  It was way too early for another one.

There was a bleep from the taxi’s radio as the music cut out, replaced by a nervous-sounding voice.  “Please stay tuned for a message from the Prime Minister,” it said.  The cabbie swore and changed the channel, but it made no difference.  Kurt leaned forward as he realised that the message was going out on all channels.  “The Prime Minister will address the nation in ten minutes.”

Kurt waited, impatiently, for the Prime Minister to begin to speak.  Combined with the call-up, it suggested bad news.  It suggested war.  He didn't make a habit of following international and interplanetary affairs, but he hadn't heard anything that suggested war was on the verge of breaking out.  There were bouts of trouble on colony worlds, brief disputes on Earth between smaller nations, yet nothing that should have demanded a full mobilisation ...

The radio bleeped again, then a familiar voice came over the airwaves.  Kurt realised, as he listened, that the Prime Minister sounded dreadfully tired.  Something was definitely wrong.

“We have received news from the very edge of settled space,” the Prime Minister said, in a manner that suggested he wasn't quite sure he believed his own words.  “A number of human settlements have been attacked by a force of unknown origin.  We do not know why these ... aliens attacked us, or what they want.  All we know is that they are hostile.”

Kurt felt his blood run cold.  Aliens?  There had been speculation – and no shortage of movies, books and interactive games – about what might happen when humanity finally met another intelligent race.  The aliens might be friendly, they might be so different that communication was next to impossible ... or they might be hostile.  And yet, there was no logical reason for two interstellar powers to go to war.  There was no shortage of resources in space, nothing to fight over.  Unless they were so completely repulsed by humanity ...

He shook his head as the Prime Minister kept speaking, declaring a state of emergency and informing the country that every last military reservist was being called up at once.  Kurt sighed, knowing just how many problems that would cause.  His job wasn't vitally important, but there were Royal Navy reservists working for interstellar transport and colonisation corporations.  Calling them all up to the colours would probably cause economic problems for the entire world.  But there seemed to be no alternative.

“Aliens,” the cabbie said, when the Prime Minister had finally finished speaking.  “Do you believe it?”

Kurt hesitated, then nodded.  “I think so,” he said, reluctantly.  “They wouldn't call up every last reservist if they didn't expect real trouble.”

The cabbie said nothing else until they pulled up outside East Fortune Aerospace Base.  Kurt got out, paid him a sizable tip and then headed towards the gates.  A handful of RAF Regiment soldiers were on guard outside, fingering their weapons nervously.  Kurt eyed them as he joined the queue of reservists waiting to pass through the gates, realising – again – that this was deadly serious.  Inside, he reported in and then waited for orders.  They were a long time in coming.

“Ark Royal?”  He said, when the message finally popped up in his terminal.  “They’re reactivating the Old Lady?”

“So it would seem,” the harassed dispatcher said.  If Kurt had had any doubts about the seriousness of the situation, they would have been pushed aside by how desperately the military was scrambling to get everyone where they were going.  No one seemed to have done any preplanning at all.  “There’s a shuttle for Cochrane Yards leaving in an hour; once you're there, you can join the other reservists for pickup.”

“Understood,” Kurt said.  He cursed inwardly, remembering that he had to call his boss – and Molly.  Would she be concerned about the prospect of him going to war?  “Let me know when the shuttle is boarding.”

***
Major Charles Parnell cursed out loud as the enemy force appeared out of nowhere, advancing towards the handful of Royal Marines with deadly intent.  He’d deployed most of his men forward, leaving him and his officers dangerously exposed – precisely, he realised now, what the exercise designers had intended.  He dived for cover, then lifted his rifle and started firing towards the enemy soldiers.  They ducked themselves, but kept advancing.

I screwed this one up, he told himself, as he motioned for his men to fall back.  There was no time to recall any of his squads, not in time to make a difference.  He’d misread the situation and was about to suffer for it.  The post-exercise discussions would be hellish.  I ...

His radio buzzed.  “ENDEX,” a voice said.  “I say again, ENDEX.”

Charles blinked in surprise.  The exercise had barely begun!  Why was it being terminated?

“Understood,” he said, keying his throat mike.  “ENDEX acknowledged.”

He stood up and looked around.  Salisbury Plain training area had been carefully designed to allow the various ground forces to practice their trade.  The Royal Marines, who were regularly deployed to various colony worlds, made good use of the facilities ... but now, the exercise had simply been terminated.  He saw his commandos leaving cover and walking back towards the garrison, chatting to friends among the ‘enemy’ force.  One way or another, he knew, he would never have a chance to recover from his mistake.  It would be a permanent black mark on his record.

They reached the garrison, where a handful of sergeants were hastily sorting out the various units and pointing them towards their barracks.  Charles spoke briefly to his Regimental Sergeant Major, then hastened down the corridor towards the briefing room.  It looked as though every exercise had been terminated, all commanding officers gathering to be briefed together.  Something was definitely wrong.  

He took a seat in the briefing room and chatted briefly to the other officers, but it rapidly became clear that none of them knew what was going on.  The CO entered the room, waved them back into their chairs before they could salute properly, then took his place at the front of the chamber.  His face was pale, almost ashen.  Had there been a natural disaster, Charles asked himself, or had terrorists struck again?  He forced himself to relax.  No doubt they would be given the answers soon enough.

“We have made first contact – and they’re hostile,” the CO said, once the doors had been sealed.  “Several planets have been attacked by alien forces.”

He ran through a brief outline of everything they knew, which wasn't much.  Civilians had no idea how long it could take to get a message from the edge of human space to Earth, which meant that the aliens might already have invaded several more worlds.  It was quite likely that several worlds along the frontier had no idea of what was going on – and the first warning they’d get would come when alien starships materialised in their skies.

“All exercises are hereby terminated,” the CO continued, once he had finished outlining the bare bones of the situation.  “We will be deploying within the week, ideally, either to places on Earth or Britannia.  Marine units will probably be deployed to Royal Navy starships; so far, we have only the bare bones of a deployment plan. I don’t think I have to tell you that all leave is cancelled.”

There were some chuckles.  “Sir,” a wag in the back row said, “would this be a good time to take my sick leave?”

“Probably,” the CO said, to general amusement.  He smiled, then sobered.  “We have been prepping for minor deployments, not a full-scale war.  It is possible, I suppose, that the whole issue will be settled before too long, once the diplomats get to work.  But we have to assume the worst.  You and your men will go to war against an immensely powerful enemy with unknown motivations.  We don't know who they are and we don't know what they want.”

“Us, it would seem,” Charles muttered.

The CO ignored him.  “Prepare your men; I want everyone ready for departure within twenty-four hours.  Deployment orders will be issued as soon as possible.  Once the orders are issued, we will arrange transport on a priority basis.  I imagine that the Marines will go first, as the Royal Navy is preparing its carriers for departure.”

He paused.  “Are there any questions?”

A Colonel stuck up his hand.  “Are we going to be engaged in joint operations?”

“I don’t know, but I assume so,” the CO said.  “Scuttlebutt suggests that the Prime Minister is attempting to hammer out the details of a unified command with the other interstellar powers, but it could take months before we have a clear idea of who’s in ultimate command.  For the moment, we will operate on the assumption that we will fight under separate national authority.”

Charles scowled.  Collectively, the human race had a formidable number of carriers, starfighters and smaller warships.  But that strength would be diluted if they fought separately, rather than as one unified force.  Unity of command would be vitally important ... but, at the same time, he suspected the Royal Navy would balk at placing its ships under Chinese or Russian command.  Or French, for that matter.  The old rivalry between Britain and France kept popping up from time to time.

Not a problem for us, at least, he told himself.  Unless British settlements were attacked, it was unlikely the ground forces would see any action.  But then, they were prepped for starship deployments ...

“See to your men,” the CO ordered.  “Dismissed!

Four hours later, orders finally arrived.  Charles read them, wondering just what the head shed were thinking.  Instead of being attached to a modern carrier, his unity would be deployed to Ark Royal.  It looked as though someone expected the carrier to see action.  

Or, he thought silently, that they don’t want us to see action.

Chapter Four

“Captain,” Midshipwoman Lopez said, over the intercom, “the latest shuttle is approaching the shuttlebay.”

Ted nodded.  Three days of struggling desperately to prepare Ark Royal for active service had reminded him, again, of just how much paperwork the first commanding officer of any starship had to actually do.  Everything had to be carefully detailed and documented, in triplicate, before the ship could leave orbit.  In Ark Royal’s case, the modifications the crew had made to keep her functional also had to be carefully noted, just to make life simpler for the bureaucrats.  But they’d probably end up with headaches if they tried to follow what his crew had done.

“Understood,” he said, dropping the terminal on his desk.  His office was large, in theory, but several more boxes of spare parts had been stored there for the last few years.  “I’m on my way.”

He looked wistfully at the cabinet containing his selection of alcohol, then angrily dismissed the thought and strode out of the cabinet.  It was tempting, so very tempting, to take a glass ... but he knew it wouldn't remain at a single glass.  He’d take another, and then another, until he was blind drunk.  And then the Admiral would relieve him of command, once he found out.

Two hundred crewmen, mainly borrowed from the Luna Shipyards, had already come aboard Ark Royal since the PM had made his announcement.  They’d done wonders for the ship, but it would still be at least two weeks before they could reasonably claim to be ready for any kind of deployment.  Ted marched down the corridor, noting where internal nodes had been carefully replaced with modern systems, then reminded himself to skim through the paperwork once the work was completed.  They had to make sure that all of the different systems could work together before they took the starship into combat.

He nodded to Commander Fitzwilliam as he entered the shuttlebay, just in time to watch as the shuttle came into land.  Fitzwilliam wasn't doing too badly, as far as Ted could tell, although he was clearly unprepared for the carrier’s idiosyncrasies.  But then, that would be true of almost everyone in the Royal Navy.  The only way to prepare for the carrier was to serve on the carrier.  Thankfully, Fitzwilliam was smart enough to listen to his subordinates, rather than lord himself over them.  He understood the limitations of his own knowledge.

“Mainly starfighter pilots,” Fitzwilliam said, as the shuttle’s hatch opened.  “They seem to think we need them more than engineers and other workers.”

Ted wasn't surprised.  Years of experience with the Royal Navy’s bureaucracy had left him convinced that the bureaucrats knew absolutely nothing about commanding a starship.  A bureaucrat had determined that Ark Royal needed starfighter pilots and starfighter pilots had been sent, even though there were no starfighters for them to fly.  It probably helped that the starfighter pilots were almost all reservists, who really should have been called up later, once the ship was ready for them.

He waited until the pilots were lined up, then stepped forward.  “Welcome aboard,” he said.  “I will be blunt.  There are no starfighters, so we’re adding you to the personnel pool right now.  You will start by cleaning out your living space, then helping to prepare the launch tubes for the starfighters, once they finally arrive.”

None of the pilots looked very happy at his words.  Ted concealed his amusement with an effort.  Pilots were often prima donnas, demanding everything from the very best of rations to having their starfighters prioritised for repair.  It was a form of compensation, he had been told, for the simple fact that one hit would destroy their starfighters and kill them.  But it was still incredibly annoying.

“As yet, we have no word on when we will actually deploy,” he continued.  “However, I will inform you as soon as we get the word.”

He nodded to Fitzwilliam, who stepped forward and led the starfighter pilots towards their living quarters.  Their quarters had been largely untouched since Ark Royal had gone into the reserves, leaving the pilots with the task of cleaning them up.  It was irritating – Ted would have preferred more time to prepare – but the bureaucrats hadn't given him a choice.  They’d already caused the pilots to waste two days at Cochrane.

Shaking his head, he turned and headed back towards his office.  The paperwork wouldn't do itself, sadly.  And besides, he needed to requisition some other equipment personally.  The bureaucrats hadn't listened to Anderson when he’d made the request.  But they’d listen to him.

Or so he hoped.

***
It had been nearly ten years since Kurt Schneider had set foot on a carrier – and that had been a modern carrier, for its time.  Ark Royal, by contrast, seemed to have come out of a museum, complete with pieces of outdated equipment that should have been discarded years ago.  The air smelled faintly musty as he followed the XO through a series of airlocks and into the quarters set aside for starfighter pilots.  When he saw them, he couldn't help swearing out loud.

“Crap,” one of the younger pilots said.  She wasn't a reservist; Kurt had no idea what she’d done to be assigned to Ark Royal.  “Dust.  Dust everywhere.”

“You’ll have to deal with it,” the XO said.  “I’m afraid we don’t have time to handle everything ourselves.”

Kurt sighed, but nodded.  Their enforced break on Cochrane had allowed him a chance to download the files on Ark Royal – at least the ones available to a reservist without an active clearance – and one thing had been clear.  With only forty crewmen assigned to the crew, there was no way the ship could be kept in tip-top condition.  It was unfortunate that they would have to clear their own living quarters first, but there was no alternative.

“A word with you, Schneider,” the XO continued.  “If you’ll join me outside ...?”

It wasn't a request, Kurt knew.  He followed the XO back out of the compartment, then into a smaller compartment that was probably intended to be the CAG’s office.  All of the equipment that would once have been held there had been stripped out, leaving the compartment thoroughly bare.  It was a minor miracle, Kurt decided, that there was even a light.  The entire compartment resembled a dim cave, rather than a place to work.

“We are unlikely to receive many active duty starfighter pilots,” the XO said, without preamble.  “The ones we do have are the ones with ... disciplinary problems.  Accordingly, you are appointed Commander Air Group, at least for the moment.  Is that acceptable?”

Kurt swallowed.  “It's been eight years since I served in a regular unit,” he said, finally.  “And I was never more than squadron XO ...”

“You’re the best we have,” the XO said.  “We may get someone else, someone preferable, later on, but for the moment we have you.  Suck it up and deal with it.”

“Yes, sir,” Kurt said.  He scowled to himself.  How could he be a CAG when there were no starfighters for his pilots to fly?  “When are we likely to receive fighters?”

“Hopefully, within the week,” the XO assured him.  “But we have to prepare the launch tubes first, you see.”

Kurt nodded, then turned and walked back into his quarters.  He knew a couple of the other pilots from his previous service, but it seemed that the bureaucrats – in their infinite wisdom – hadn’t seen fit to keep reserve units together.  It wasn't too surprising, he knew; his reserve unit had been scattered over interplanetary space, with a handful of the pilots even based on Britannia rather than Earth.  But it still meant that they would have to build up a working relationship faster than anyone would have preferred.

He pursed his lips, then blew a single note.  The pilots looked up at him, expectantly.  He looked back, wondering which of them were going to be problems.  The active duty pilots might have expected to be promoted – maybe that was why some of them had transferred – despite whatever problems were concealed within their files.  Normally, they would have been right too.  Active duty pilots were considered one grade senior to their reserve counterparts.

“I have been appointed CAG, pro tem,” he said, shortly.  If anyone was disappointed, they’d just have to deal with it.  “We should receive our starfighters within the week.  However, until then, we will have to prepare the fighter tubes for launch.”

There was some grumbling, but no actual dissent.  Kurt allowed himself a moment of relief.  They were all adults, thankfully, not little children.  Or even big children like Penny and Percy, he added, in the privacy of his own thoughts.

“I know this isn't what we expected when we signed on the dotted line,” he added, “but it has to be done.  I’ll speak privately to each of you over the coming week, so we get to know each other a little better.  Once we receive our fighters, we will begin regular training.  We may be able to cannibalise a simulator from Luna Base, but it won’t be as good as reality.”

He smiled at their expressions.  Simulators were good, he had to admit, and much safer than actual training missions, but they didn't quite do everything.  Pilots could replay the infamous trench scene in a simulator, or go buzzing through an asteroid field that didn't exist, at least outside the imaginations of science-fiction writers, yet the sense of danger was missing.  A crash in a simulator was embarrassing, a crash in a real starfighter was lethal.

“Now,” he said, looking around the compartment.  “Time to get this mess cleared up.”

He watched the other pilots as they swept up the dust, removed the protective covers from the bunks and cleaned out the showers.  Most of them seemed to accept their task willingly, but a handful were grumbling under their breath as they worked.  One – a girl who would have been pretty, if she hadn't been scowling all the time – looked particularly annoyed.  Kurt wondered, absently, if she had a reason to be annoyed, then dismissed the thought.  If she hadn't wanted to go where she was sent, she shouldn't have joined the military.

You weren't much better when you were on active duty, he reminded himself.  It was an uncomfortable thought.  Were you?

Once the room was clean – or at least cleaner – he reached for his terminal and checked the duty roster.  Neither he nor his pilots had been added to it – the XO presumably hadn't gotten around to it – so he told his pilots to get a few hours of sleep before time ran out.  It wouldn't be long, he was sure, before they were put back to work.  But it would be just long enough to write out a message for Molly and then work out what needed to be done to get the fighter tubes ready for their new craft.
***
James watched the newly-appointed CAG returned to his quarters – there was no hope of a separate set of quarters for the CAG, at least not yet – then pulled his terminal off his belt and glanced down at the list of tasks.  The next flight of crewmen – engineering crew this time, thankfully – were due to arrive in an hour, giving him time to inspect the tactical section before they arrived.  There was already a long list of improvements and modifications that had to be made, but he knew they were nowhere near the end.

He strode back through the network of corridors – Ark Royal was even more internally complex than the more modern carriers – and into the tactical section.  Lieutenant Commander Keith Farley was already there, issuing orders to a handful of crewmen while watching a tactical simulation on the display.  There was little data on the enemy forces – at least, not yet – but Ark Royal had quite a few surprises for any human starship that got too close.  The rail guns and mass drivers might be outdated, yet they packed one hell of a wallop.

“We’re going to need a regular supply of projectiles,” Farley informed him.  “I’d like to obtain a compressor – perhaps from an asteroid mining crew – and then use that to produce new projectiles upon demand.  We may be operating some distance from regular supply services.”

James nodded, impressed.  Mass drivers were powerful, but they burned through ammunition at a terrifying rate.  It wasn't as if they were firing expensive missiles – the projectiles were nothing more than pieces of rock – yet even a carrier as large as Ark Royal couldn't carry an infinite supply.  But a compressor would allow them to produce their own projectiles from asteroid materials, if they had time to pause to reload.

“Put in the request and I’ll countersign it,” he said.  There shouldn’t be any problem arranging for a compressor, not when no one else would have a use for it.  The only other ships that carried mass drivers were older ships from the lesser powers.  “What about missiles and pulse cannons?”

“Missiles may be delayed,” Farley admitted, reaching for his terminal.  “Everyone and their dog wants missiles right now and we’re down at the bottom of the priority list.  The pulse cannons are on their way – thankfully, the other carriers already had theirs installed – and we should have them set up within the week.  The real problem, of course, is going to be coordinating everything.”

James winced.  Modern carriers were built to avoid friendly fire ... but Ark Royal’s systems were less capable of separating friend from foe.  Even with computers – no human mind could hope to handle the speeds involved – it was still difficult to be absolutely sure that a foe was being targeted before the opportunity vanished into nothingness.  The engineering crew had promised that more modern sensors would be arranged, but they had problems interacting with the other systems.  Given enough time, he suspected that Anderson would have preferred to rip everything out and start again with more modern technology.  But that would have taken years.

“I’m currently working out ways to manipulate active sensor probes and passive sensor arrays to make it easier to provide full coverage,” Farley added.  “However, if we were flying with more modern carriers, I would suggest tapping down our own sensors and relying on theirs.”

“Dangerous,” James observed.  “I don’t think the Captain would approve.”

“Me neither,” Farley agreed.  “It depends on just how the Admiralty intends to employ us.”

James sighed.  After the first briefing, there had been nothing from the Admiralty – at least nothing concerning Ark Royal directly.  There had been security alerts, warnings that peaceniks were already starting to protest against the war, and a handful of speculative papers on just what the aliens might have in mind, but nothing more specific.  The media had been crammed with even more baseless speculation, ranging from horror stories about alien atrocities to suggestions that the human race had somehow provoked the war.  But no one knew anything for sure.

“I believe that depends on how quickly we get ready for active service,” James said.  He sighed, then looked up at the simulation.  “Keep me informed of progress.”

Farley nodded, then returned to his work.

James’s terminal buzzed.  “Sir,” Midshipwomen Lopez said, “the Royal Marine shuttle is requesting permission to land.”

“Oh,” James said.  He glanced at his chronometer, then swore.  The planned schedule had called for the Marines to arrive the following day, when Ark Royal was ready for them.  If the Marines came onboard now ... they would have to help set up their own gear.  The crewmen didn't have the time to handle it.  “Tell them to dock, then inform the Captain.  I’ll meet them in the shuttlebay.”

***
“Someone seems to like us, sir,” Captain Reginald Jackson said, once the XO had shown them to the barracks and departed.  “Only a little dust, smelly sheets ... good god, they even gave us a shower!”

Charles snorted, unable to conceal his amusement completely.  Compared to some of the places his commando had slept over the years, Ark Royal was paradise incarnate.  Marine Country was always cramped, forcing the commandos to share beds from time to time, but that wouldn't be a problem on Ark Royal.  Only 120 Royal Marine Commandos had been assigned to the ship under his command, which meant there was plenty of room for them to spread out in the vast barracks.

“It doesn't look like they set out to welcome us,” he agreed.  Normally, Royal Marines and naval crewmen hazed one another mercilessly.  Ark Royal’s crew clearly hadn't had the time, even if they’d had the inclination, to prepare an unpleasant welcome for the marines.  But then, there was a war on.  Even the pettiest of naval crewmen would have thought better of continuing the rivalry when they might have to rely on the marines to save their lives.  “Get the bags unpacked, then we can inspect the training facilities.”

He watched his men preparing themselves, feeling a twinge of pride.  The Royal Marines prided themselves on being the roughest and toughest British fighting men – a claim that was hotly disputed by other units that considered themselves equally tough – and no marine was ever allowed to wear an armoured combat suit without proving himself on the ground first.  Training was harsh, unrelenting and sometimes lethal, but those who emerged from the experience were ready for anything.  But they’d never seriously prepared for alien contact.

The RSM saluted, once the final bags were stowed away.  “All present and correct, sir,” he said.  “We’re ready for deployment.”

Charles smiled.  “Good,” he said.  Royal Marines served as everything from boarding parties to onboard security.  If nothing else, they could be sure of doing something new every few days.  Just because there was a war on there was no good reason to neglect endless training and exercises.  “Let us go prepare for the war.”

Chapter Five

“Enemy fighters at three o’clock,” Kurt said.

“Roger,” Rose answered.  “What should I do until then?”

Kurt rolled his eyes.  The joke had been outdated when the military had started experimenting with jet fighters, let alone starfighters in interplanetary space.  But it was good to realise that the squadrons were coming together, even if it did mean some cheek and backtalk from his subordinates.  He settled back into his chair, then watched as the enemy fighters closed in rapidly on the flight of Spitfires.

“On my mark, jink and engage,” he ordered, curtly.  “I don’t want them anywhere near the carrier.”

The enemy starfighters looked as if they weren't even bothering to try to hold a formation.  A civilian pair of eyes would have thought the pilots were drunk or incompetent, but experienced starfighter pilots knew better.  Predicable flight paths meant certain death for the pilots; the enemy were jinking around like mad, even as they approached Ark Royal’s defenders.  Long-range shots would almost certainly do nothing more than alarm them – and accomplish that much only if they were not experienced enough to know that the odds of being hit were almost non-existent.

Spitfires didn't look anything like their famous namesakes from the Battle of Britain.  They were spherical craft, bristling with weapons and drive thrusters that could push them in any direction.  Spacecraft didn't have to be bound by the laws governing jet aircraft in planetary atmospheres, after all.  It was impossible to build a starfighter that also functioned as a jet fighter to engage targets on the ground.

“Mark,” he ordered.  “Now!”

The starfighters jinked, then opened fire as the enemy came into range.  Kurt watched grimly as the enemy concentrated on blowing through the defending formation, instead of trying to hunt them down one by one.  It suggested, part of his mind noted, that they were armed with anti-carrier missiles rather than being configured to sweep space clean of hostile starfighters.  But they still carried chain guns of their own, ready to take shots at any starfighter that presented itself as a target.  Kurt cursed under his breath as two of his pilots died, followed by five enemy fighters.  The remainder accelerated towards Ark Royal, forcing the defenders to give chase.

We’re rusty, he thought, sourly.  Two weeks of intensive practice had allowed the pilots to recover their skills, but none of them had worked together before being assigned to Ark Royal.  It didn't help that some of the reservists hadn't set foot on a carrier for years, let alone flown a starfighter.  If they were being graded, Kurt suspected, the entire unit would have been relieved of duty and probably broken up completely.  But instead they might have to face a mysterious alien foe ...

The enemy starfighters didn't flinch as they flew into the teeth of Ark Royal’s point defence.  Instead, they launched missiles towards the carrier, then tried to break free before it was too late, scattering randomly as they fled.  Kurt cursed again as four of the missiles struck home, nuclear warheads detonating against the ship’s hull.  Moments later, it was all over.

“End exercise,” he ordered, quietly.  Ark Royal was tough, armoured in a way no modern carrier was armoured, but even she couldn't survive four nuclear blasts in quick succession.  Even a single direct hit would have been alarming; if nothing else, it would damage the network of sensors and weapons mounted on the ship’s hull.  “Return to base; I say again, return to base.”

He didn't say anything else until they were seated in the briefing compartment with mugs of hot tea in front of them.  There was no hard data on just what the enemy could do, he knew, so they’d assumed that they would be facing modern starfighters armed with the latest in drives, weapons and stealth gear.  The Spitfires weren't that outdated – the mechanics had been able to refit them with modern sensors – but they had their limitations.  And Ark Royal’s limited sensor arrays didn't help.

“So,” he said, looking around the compartment.  “We lost the carrier.  I think that counts as a disaster.”

No one disagreed.  Starfighters couldn't hope to return home without a carrier, not with their very limited life support.  In theory, they could be picked up by other starships, but no one had ever tried to recover more than a handful of starfighters at once.  Kurt made a mental note to recommend that such operations be practiced as soon as possible, although he suspected that the Royal Navy had other problems.  Two carriers had been added to the unified defence fleet and dispatched outwards to New Russia, while most of the remainder had been assigned to Earth or Britannia.  It would be months before they were ready to start experimenting with new procedures.

“The Captain will not be pleased, I imagine,” he continued.  “What did we do wrong?”

“Let them get past us,” Rose said, sourly.  She’d come very close to being taken out too.  “We need another flight of starfighters closer to the carrier.”

“And what would happen,” another pilot asked, “if the point defence mistakes those craft for enemy fighters?”

“They end up dead,” Rose pointed out, snidely.  “Look; we either run the risk of letting them get within missile range of the carrier or we run the risk of letting our point defence take pot-shots at us.”

Kurt snorted.  He knew the ideal answer from exercises, but exercises always left out the real danger.  The Royal Navy’s planners fought constant battles with the bureaucrats and well-meaning politicians over the use of live weapons in exercises, even though such exercises were always more informative than simulated danger.  But then, losing a pilot in an exercise would be politically dangerous.  It would be used against the Navy by the politicians.

“We will have to split our forces,” he said, raising his voice.  Debates were often interesting and it was important that the pilots learned to speak their minds, but in the end the final responsibility stopped with Kurt himself.  Somehow, he doubted the other pilots would be allowed to join him when he faced a court martial if things went wrong.  “It will mean additional risk, true, but I see no alternative.”

He sighed.  “We’ll run another set of exercises in two hours,” he added.  “Go get some sleep, then assemble back here for pre-flight briefing.  Any questions?”

“Yes,” one of the pilots said.  “When can we expect to receive more pilots?”

Kurt sighed.  After the first rush to get pilots and fighters to Ark Royal, the bureaucrats had switched their attention to equipping the unified defence fleet, downgrading the ancient carrier to a lower priority.  He couldn't really blame them, he knew, but it was still frustrating when he was responsible for the carrier’s fighters.  They could cram another two wings of starfighters into the launch bays without real difficulty, hopefully including some torpedo-bombers.  Right now, Ark Royal had almost no long-range striking power, apart from the mass drivers.

“We’ll get them when we get them,” he said, tiredly.  Someone had clearly worked out that recalling the naval reservists from interplanetary shipping lines would be economically disastrous.  He would have been impressed by this display of common sense on the part of the bureaucrats if it hadn't been so irritating to have to constantly report that the fighter wings were not ready for deployment.  “Go get some sleep.”

He held out a hand as Rose stood up.  “Hold on,” he said, as the other pilots cleared the room.  “I want a word with you.”

Rose looked up at him crossly, then sat down again, one hand toying with her short blonde hair.  She wasn't unattractive, Kurt knew, but her permanently soured expression made it harder to feel any attraction for her.  Not that was a bad thing, he reminded himself hastily.  He was a married man.  Once the other pilots were gone, he closed the hatch and sat down facing her.

“You're having personal problems,” he said, silently damning himself for ever agreeing to take the CAG post.  He was meant to fly with the pilots as well as discipline them.  A normal CAG wouldn't fly at all, except in emergencies.  “And they’re affecting your performance.”

Rose scowled.  “That’s none of your bloody business,” she snapped.  “With all due respect, sir ...”

Kurt cut her off.  “You’re an excellent flier when you put your mind to it, but you're being distracted,” he said.  There was no point in penalising her for her tone.  “Either share your problems with me or put them out of your mind, for good.”

“It's my boyfriend,” Rose said, softly.  “He’s ... he’s been deployed with the unified defence force.”

It took Kurt a moment to put it together.  Her file hadn't been too clear on what she’d actually done to be sent to Ark Royal; indeed, the comments had been so elliptical that he hadn't been able to work them out.  But if she’d been sleeping with a fellow pilot, perhaps even one in the same squadron ...

He shook his head.  Fraternisation between crewmembers was a dirty little secret within the Royal Navy; it wasn't meant to happen, but everyone knew someone who’d engaged in sexual relationships while on deployment.  Sometimes, a commanding officer would turn a blind eye; sometimes, the happy couple would be broken up, normally by having one of them reassigned to a different starship.  There was no formal regulations, but informally it depended on just how badly the relationship affected discipline.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, and meant it.  He’d never had a relationship with another pilot, but he knew just how intense such relationships could become.  “But you can't let it affect your duties.”

Rose sagged.  “I know that,” she said, weakly.  “What do you suggest I do?”

“Write him v-mails, then forget about it,” Kurt said.  He paused, feeling a sudden flush of embarrassment.  “Remember that some v-mails may be viewed by security officers now that we’re in a state of war.”

He smiled at her expression.  It hadn't been that long ago that a girlfriend had composed v-mails to her boyfriend in the navy, including videos of her naked and performing sexual acts with a girlfriend.  Somehow – Kurt suspected treachery – the videos had been distributed through the naval communications network and then into the planetary datanet.  The resulting inquiry hadn't been able to place the blame.

“I don’t think I have time to be explicit,” Rose said.  She gave him a smile that completely transformed her face.  “Thank you, sir.”

Kurt dismissed her, then turned his attention to his terminal.  A new v-mail from Molly had popped into the ship’s datanet, allowing him to view it now he was alone.  It wasn't even remotely explicit; Molly reported that Penny still wasn't doing too well at school, while Kurt’s boss had warned that he might have to find a replacement if Kurt didn't return to work soon.  Technically, it was illegal to sack a reservist who had been called back to the colours, but Kurt understood his boss’s dilemma.  He couldn’t afford to pay Kurt’s salary while receiving nothing in return and it might be months or years before government compensation appeared.

He shook his head, ruefully, as Molly kept outlining the problems with Penny.  Their daughter was smart enough to understand just how incompetent her teacher was, according to Molly, which led her to act badly in class.  But Kurt knew that there would always be incompetent assholes in the world ... and many of them would be in places of power.  Penny was doing herself no favours by challenging her tutor ...

Shaking his head, he keyed the switch and started to record another message.  Maybe another lecture from her father would help.  Or maybe she’d just keep rebelling against her parents ...

***
“I have the final set of medical reports,” Midshipwoman Lopez said, once she had stepped into James’s cabin and closed the hatch behind her.  “Doctor Hastings requests that you make time to discuss a handful of issues with her.”

“Understood,” James said, as he took the datapad she offered him and glanced down at it thoughtfully.  Regulations stated that every officer and crewman had to undergo a complete physical examination, but putting them off as long as possible was an old Royal Navy tradition.  He’d set a good example by reporting for his own exam as soon as the doctor had configured sickbay to her liking, yet he’d still had to chase the other senior officers to force them to put time aside to see the doctor.  “Take a seat.”

He studied the younger woman as she sat down, resting her hands on her lap.  Midshipwoman Lopez’s file was curiously empty, without even the codes that might imply that there were details well above his level of access.  As far as he could tell, she’d gone through the Academy – she hadn't been part of the honours class, but she’d hardly done badly – and then been assigned to Ark Royal.  It made no sense.  None of the original crew had been assigned to Ark Royal without screwing up at one point or another.  But Midshipwoman Lopez seemed to be the exception.  

Maybe she annoyed someone, he thought.  But who could a Midshipwoman annoy who would assign her to Ark Royal?  It was true that some Admirals could be hellishly vindictive, but something so blatant would only attract attention – and the old boy’s network had ways to deal with Admirals who abused their positions too much.

He threw caution to the winds and asked.  “Why are you here?”

“You told me you wanted the reports as soon as possible,” Midshipwoman Lopez said.  “I brought them to you ...”

“Not now,” James said.  “Why are you assigned to Ark Royal?”

“I requested it,” Midshipwoman Lopez said.

James gaped at her, unable to even try to control his expression.  He had requested the assignment to Ark Royal, but he'd assumed that he would be her CO.  If that hadn't seemed likely, he would have tried to take a position on one of the more modern carriers.  Even if he hadn't been promoted to command, he would have been well-placed to take command later, once his CO moved onwards.  

But someone as hopelessly junior as a midshipwoman?  She would always have the shadow of Ark Royal looming over her, reminding her future commanding officers that she would require extensive retraining to serve on a modern starship.  Maybe, just maybe, she’d assumed that she would climb the ranks on Ark Royal, but that would still leave her on a starship that should be sent to the breakers.  Unless she'd known, somehow, that Ark Royal would be called back to service ...

He shook his head, dismissing the thought.  That was impossible.

“You requested it,” he repeated.  It wasn't uncommon for graduating officers to request postings ... but, unless they were in the top ten places at the Academy, it was rare for a newly-minted officer to receive the post they wanted.  But there would be almost no competition for slots on Ark Royal.  “Might I ask why?”

Midshipwomen Lopez hesitated.  “My maternal grandfather was the Elected King of Karees,” she said, after a long moment.  “The population was one of the more eccentric asteroid civilisations ... until one day there was a major life support failure and the entire asteroid had to be evacuated.  Ark Royal was the Royal Navy starship that responded to the crisis and took my grandfather and his people onboard.”

James had to smile, remembering the notation in Ark Royal’s logbook.  The engineers had noted, afterwards, that the population seemed to have deliberately sabotaged their own asteroid, although no one had been able to figure out why.  Some asteroids held settlements with really strange principles, including a handful who enjoyed taking risks with the life support.  The discovery of the Puller Drive had sent thousands of such settlements expanding out of the solar system to places where they could enjoy true privacy.

“My grandfather ended up becoming a British citizen,” Midshipwomen Lopez added.  “He also willed his remaining funds to the preservation trust for Ark Royal.  When I graduated, keeping the Old Lady going seemed a worthwhile use of my time.”

“I see,” James said.  It was odd, but hardly a major problem.  “I trust that you enjoy serving on the ship?”

“It’s quite fascinating,” Midshipwomen Lopez assured him.  “We can’t just insert components into the ship’s computers and expect them to work.  We often have to rewrite the computer codes or insert bridges between two separate systems that were never intended to work together.  Understanding all the different links is tricky, but ...”

She shrugged, her face lighting up.  “I dare say I've learned more than anyone outside engineering or computer support,” she added.  “And we have kept the Old Lady ready for action.”

“Or close to it,” James agreed.  He looked down at the reports on his desk.  It would be another week before Ark Royal was truly ready for deployment – or as close to it as he expected they would ever become – but the crew had done an excellent job.  “Thank you for coming.  I have no doubt I will have more tasks for you in a few hours.”

Midshipwomen Lopez rose to her feet.  “Thank you, sir,” she said.  “I’m due in Engineering in twenty minutes.”

“Go grab a mug of coffee,” James said, absently.  He paused as a thought occurred to him.  “Was your grandfather the driving force behind the preservation society?”

“No, just one of them,” Midshipwomen Lopez assured him.

James smiled as she left the compartment, remembering what he’d been told when he’d first realised that Ark Royal might be reactivated.  There was a pressure group dedicated to keeping the Old Lady in service, even if she was just in the reserves.  Why not?  She was hardly the only starship to merit being kept alive.  And besides, with the sudden desperate need for hulls, the Royal Navy might have good cause to be relieved they’d kept her.

Shaking his head, he picked up the terminal and went back to work.

Chapter Six

Ted had to smile when he walked into Briefing Room A, followed closely by Commander Fitzwilliam.  The boxes of spare parts had been removed from the compartment and stowed away in disused cabins, allowing his senior officers to take their seats without having to worry about being careful where they sat.  Midshipwomen Lopez had even managed to scrounge up some replacement chairs, although they weren't marked with Ark Royal’s crest.

“Be seated,” he ordered, shortly.  “We seem to have met our deadline.”

His senior crew exchanged nods.  They’d worked frantically for over a month to get Ark Royal ready for service, a month during which there had been no further alien contact.  Ted had heard that the unified defence command was talking about sending scoutships back to the attacked systems, just to see what was happening there, but as far as he knew nothing had actually come of the proposals.  All he could really do was wait to see what happened, just like the civilians on Earth.  Thankfully, the panic had slowly faded away as further attacks failed to materialise.

“We could still do with additional training,” Wing Commander Schneider said.  The CAG leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.  “The fighter wings have a very inconsistent level of practice, I’m afraid.”

“Keep working on it,” Ted ordered, dryly.  He understood Schneider’s problem, but they needed to start thinking about deployment.  “We may be asked to leave at any moment.”

“Which leads to an important question,” Farley said.  “Where are they?”

Ted scowled.  The aliens had hit their first target over six weeks ago.  By now, they should have been reaching Earth ... or at least feeling their way into the heart of human space.  But instead they seemed to be doing nothing, nothing at all.  It made no sense.  What sort of mindset would start a war, a war that had come as a complete surprise to its target, and then hold off long enough for the target to get over its shock and mobilise?  Even the endless political debate over command and control was drawing to an end.

He looked up at the holographic starchart, thinking hard.  The unified defence command had concluded that New Russia was the next target for the alien invaders.  Fortunately, it had a growing industrial base, as well as a deeply nationalistic population that would resist when – if – the aliens tried to land.  By now, twelve carriers and over a hundred smaller ships – the largest fleet humanity had ever deployed outside the Sol System – were based there, ready to meet the aliens when they arrived.  But so far the aliens hadn't shown their hand.

“They may not agree with our thoughts on how to fight a war,” Ted observed, finally.  Who knew how aliens thought?  For all they knew, the aliens hadn't realised they were facing an interstellar power.  And yet ... surely they would have known from studying the remains of the destroyed colonies.  “Or maybe their drive systems are inferior to our own.”

The starchart shimmered at his command, showing the known gravitational tramlines running between the targeted worlds and New Russia.  Unless the alien systems were far inferior to humanity’s systems, they should have been at New Russia within a week, hard on the heels of news of their arrival.  It just didn't make sense.  

“Or maybe they think they’ve bit off more than they can chew,” Fitzwilliam offered.  “The massed might of humanity is hard to bet against, isn't it?”

Ted shrugged.  Interstellar carriers were an expensive investment, but once the industrial base for building them had been completed the costs tended to fall.  There was no reason why the aliens couldn’t have ten carriers for every one of humanity’s – or far more.  He gritted his teeth, wishing – yet again – that they knew something about their foe.  All they really knew for sure was that the aliens were hostile.

“That isn't our concern,” he said, finally.  “Unless anyone has any strong objections, I intend to inform the Admiralty that Ark Royal will be ready for deployment at the end of the week.”

No one objected, although he saw a handful of concerned expressions.  He couldn't really blame them.  Ark Royal had been sitting in the reserves for so long that she might well have problems that wouldn't become apparent until she was fully powered up.  But the sooner they found out, the sooner such problems could be overcome.

Farley smiled.  “Has there been any word on deployments?”

“Nothing so far,” Ted said.  “We may be assigned to the unified defence fleet – or we may find ourselves assigned to serve as an independent raider and head behind enemy lines.”

“That would be interesting,” Fitzwilliam observed.  “But we don’t know where to go.”

“We’ll find out,” Ted assured him.  “The scouts are already searching for enemy territory.”

He looked back at the starchart.  Assuming that humanity’s sphere of expansion had brushed against alien territory – and assuming that the aliens had similar requirements to humanity – there were several dozen G2 stars that might possess alien-settled worlds.  The scouts would still take months to sort through them, hunting for potential targets.  And some of them might not come back.  

If they don’t, he told himself, we would know where to look.

“We’ll do a full power-up tomorrow,” he said, as he rose to his feet.  “And then we will know where we stand.”

***
The sound of the intercom woke him from a fitful sleep.

“Captain,” Midshipwoman Lopez said, “we have picked up an emergency signal from the Admiralty.  You and Commander Fitzwilliam are to report to Nelson Base at once.”

Ted groaned, then reached for his chronometer.  It was 0423 and he’d slept for less than five hours, after watching the final preparations for power-up in engineering.  Even if he wasn't drinking, he wasn't sleeping very well.  No doubt he was having too many fears about taking his ship into combat for the first time.

“Inform the Commander that I’ll meet him in the shuttlebay,” he ordered, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up.  “Did they give any explanation?”

“No, sir,” Midshipwoman Lopez said.  “Just an emergency call.”

Ted groaned, then fumbled through his desk drawers for a stimulant, which he swallowed before getting dressed.  An emergency call was never good news, even though the last time he’d visited Nelson Base he’d managed to keep command of his ship.  He eyed the bottles of rotgut with interest, then picked up the bottle of water and took a long swig.  Once he was refreshed, he made his way to the shuttlebay.  Commander Fitzwilliam was already there, looking disgustingly well-presented.  Ted nodded to him, then led the way into the shuttlecraft.  The pilot was already powering up the drive.

He said nothing to Fitzwilliam as the shuttle headed out of the shuttlebay and directly towards Nelson Base.  Orbital activity didn't seem to have reached any higher a tempo than it had once the first warnings had reached Earth, but he couldn't help noticing that Ark Royal wasn't the only starship sending shuttles to the naval base.  In fact, almost every ship was sending shuttles to its respective headquarters.  Something had clearly gone very wrong, he decided, feeling a chill settling around his spine.  Had the aliens attacked again?

They were greeted by a party of Royal Marines, who checked their ID implants and then pointed the two newcomers into a large briefing chamber.  Dozens of other commanding officers – and a handful of subordinates – were filling into the chamber, all looking equally bemused.  Ted nodded to a couple of commanders he knew, then found a seat near the stand and sat down.  Fitzwilliam sat down next to him.

The First Space Lord entered a moment later and took the stand.  He looked more than just tired, Ted noted; he looked badly shocked.  Something had definitely gone badly wrong ... he leaned forward as a Commodore called the room to attention, then dismissed the formalities with almost indecent speed.

“Four hours ago, a courier boat arrived from New Russia,” the First Space Lord said, without preamble.  “The system has fallen to the enemy.”

It took a long moment for his words to sink in.  Everyone knew just how many starships had been assigned to New Russia, along with the planet’s not-inconsiderable orbital and planetary defences.  The Russian government had always taken a progressive view of building up their defences, if only to ensure that the new Russian homeland remained untouched and untouchable.  There were few worlds with more fixed defences ...

“Analysts are working on the recordings now,” the First Space Lord continued.  “However, it is with a heavy heart that I must confirm the destruction of the unified defence force, including HMS Invincible and Formidable.”

This time, shock swept around the compartment like a physical thing.  Invincible and Formidable were – had been – the two most modern carriers in the Royal Navy.  They’d both carried the most capable fighter units in the fleet, while their crews had been counted among the elite.  And now they were gone.

“As of now, we must assume that New Russia is under occupation,” the First Space Lord said.  “Furthermore, the political unity of humanity has been badly dented.”

Ted swallowed.  There had been twelve carriers at New Russia; six Russian, three American, two British and one French.  Between them, the smaller ships and the fixed defences, there had been almost a million naval personal assigned to the system.  The recriminations would start soon, if they hadn’t begun already.  Humanity’s unity could be lost before it had ever really been established.

“The Russians only had nine carriers,” Fitzwilliam said, softly.  “Losing six of them is going to hurt.”

It would do more than that, Ted knew.  The Russians had believed, perhaps rightly, that it was better to have a handful of carriers but place most of their resources into smaller ships.  Right now, though, those smaller ships would be badly outmatched by the aliens.  There was little hope of recovering New Russia.

He scowled, thinking through the implications.  Humanity had lost the industrial base the Russians had built up over seventy years, along with losing control of gravitational tramlines leading further into human space.  The aliens could jump out towards Earth, if they were so inclined, or they could alter course and pick off a number of smaller colony worlds before bringing the war to an end.  There were just too many targets to be defended adequately.

If there is such a thing, he told himself, bitterly.  There had been twelve carriers at New Russia ... and the aliens had taken them apart.  God alone knew how much damage the aliens had taken, but he couldn't help feeling that it was very limited.  And, even if humanity had taken out twelve alien carriers in exchange for the human ships, no one knew how big a dent that was in alien capabilities.   They might have a thousand carriers on their way to human space.

Fitzwilliam nudged him.  The First Space Lord had yielded the podium to a tired-looking analyst.  For once, almost every officer seemed to be paying attention, even though the officer was only a lieutenant – and not even a line officer.  But they all needed to know what had happened at New Russia.

“We have only preliminary results,” the analyst said.  “However, they suggest that the aliens are dangerously advanced over us.  In particular, their weapons and drives seem to be vastly superior.”

Ted sat up, feeling cold.  Ark Royal had been the most advanced starship of her time, but she couldn't hope to beat a modern carrier in a long-range engagement.  Even a handful of such carriers would have problems winning against a more advanced foe.  The original warships launched by the Royal Navy would have been rapidly wiped out by the modern ships, no matter how numerous they were.  If the aliens were advanced enough, there was no amount of blood sweat and tears that would make up the difference.

“Alien fighters seem to be roughly equal to ours in terms of drives,” the analyst said.  “However, they posses both stealth systems and advanced energy weapons capable of seriously damaging a starship’s hull.  Our best guess is that they are actually modified plasma cannons, which suggests that the aliens have actually overcome the containment field problems that bedevil human researchers.  An alternative is that the weapons actually induce limited fission in their targets.”

Ted winced.  Humanity’s plasma cannons had a nasty habit of overheating and exploding, which was why they were rarely deployed by the military.  But if the aliens had cracked that problem, somehow, it would give them a decisive advantage.  For one, all of their starfighters would pack the punch of a torpedo-bomber.  They’d have genuine duel-role starfighters.

“They also managed to get much closer to our carriers without being detected than we believed possible,” the analyst added.  “Indeed, our first thought was that the alien starfighters had managed to make an in-system FTL jump.  If we hadn't been so convinced that was impossible, we might not have realised that they merely remained hidden until they were very close to our ships.  We are currently looking for ways to break their stealth systems, but so far we have come up with nothing.

“Worse, it seems likely that they have a better FTL system than ourselves,” he concluded.  He pointed to a starchart, then focused it on the New Russia system.  “Their appearance within the system didn't correspond to any known tramline.  It seems that they jumped from a star we would consider outside normal tramline range.  This suggests that our strategic maps of human space may be badly outdated.”

Ted exchanged a long look with Fitzwilliam as the information sank in.  Normally, the tramlines rarely stretched past five light years.  It still took time to move from system to system ... but if the aliens had access to weaker tramlines, they might well be able to evade the human defences and outmanoeuvre the human starships.  It could give them a potentially decisive advantage.

To add to the other ones they have, he thought, grimly.  They’d been wrong; the aliens hadn't been reluctant to attack further, they’d just waited until humanity had offered them a tempting target.  And then they’d attacked, wiping out a colossal force and shattering humanity’s unity.  The loss of New Russia alone was a serious blow.

“We have prepared recordings of the battle for you,” the First Space Lord said.  “I advise you to watch carefully, as the recordings will not be released until the PM has addressed the nation.”

“Good idea,” Fitzwilliam muttered.  “There will be panic if this gets out.”

Ted didn't bother to disagree.  Everyone knew that carriers were the most powerful starships in existence.  Losing one alone would be a disaster, losing twelve ... even if only two of them had been British, would seem catastrophic.  And, if the aliens really did have a decisive technological advantage, it might not be long before Earth itself was targeted.

He leaned forward as the main display lit up, showing the New Russia system as a tactical display.  The alien fleet – fifteen carrier-sized starships, forty smaller craft – jumped into the system, well away from any known tramline.  Ted wondered, absently, if the aliens were actually trying to trick the human analysts.  They had enough stealth technology to hide their fleet until the moment they chose to show themselves.  Why not try to intimidate humanity into surrender?

But those plasma weapons weren't illusions, he thought, numbly.  They were real.

Humanity’s fleet assembled, blocking the alien advance.  Messages were sent, offering talks ... only to be ignored.  Humanity’s starfighters had advanced forward, ready to engage the enemy ... until the moment the enemy starfighters had appeared, between the human starfighters and their carriers.  They had to have passed through the swarm of human fighters, completely undetected.  Ignoring the suddenly frantic starfighters, the aliens threw themselves at the human carriers.  Powerful blasts of plasma fire tore into their hulls, burning through flimsy armour and wrecking havoc inside the ships.  One by one, humanity’s ships were rapidly torn apart.

The battle wasn't completely one sided, he noted.  Human weapons could and did kill enemy fighters, but there were just too many of them.  The humans were overwhelmed and destroyed before they could reorganised their formation, allowing the alien starships to advance forward to engage New Russia itself.  And then the recording came to an end.

“We will be rethinking our plans in light of this development,” the First Space Lord said, with admirable understatement.  “I don't think I need to explain just how serious this situation is, do I?”

No one disagreed.

Ted stared down at his hands, wondering briefly why he hadn't taken early retirement.  It wasn't as if the navy wanted to keep him.  And he could have been on the ground, instead of standing on the command deck of a carrier.  But the navy was his life.  And he knew his duty.  

I volunteered to place myself between Britain and war, he reminded himself.  And yet he’d never really faced the prospect of his own death in wartime.  Accidents had accounted for more naval deaths over the past decades than enemy action.  I don’t get to back out because it might have become dangerous.

“Dismissed, gentlemen,” the First Space Lord said.  “Captain Smith, if you and Commander Fitzwilliam will remain behind ...”

“Yes, sir,” Ted said.

He waited until the massive compartment was almost empty, then followed the First Space Lord through a guarded airlock into a tactical planning centre.  A handful of analysts were seated at terminals, working their way through the data from New Russia.  He looked at one of the screens and saw an alien carrier, a fragile-looking craft.  But they hadn't needed heavy armour to rip New Russia’s defences apart.

“Take a seat,” the First Space Lord ordered.  “We have a mission for you.”

Chapter Seven

“A mission,” Ted repeated.  “What do you want us to do?”

“The important detail, I think, is that the modern carriers simply lacked the armour to stand up to alien weapons,” the First Space Lord said.  “That, combined with their stealth systems, gave them a definite advantage over the united fleet, allowing them to tear us apart.”

His voice was curiously flat.  Ted realised, not entirely to his surprise, that the First Space Lord was too tired to really feel the deaths ... and grasp the full magnitude of what it meant for the war.  If humanity’s unarmoured ships were easy prey for alien fighters, the war was within shouting distance of being lost along with the carriers.  Once the carriers were gone, humanity wouldn't even be able to continue the war.  

Understanding clicked.  “Ark Royal might be able to stand up to them,” he said.  He found himself fighting to hold back the urge to giggle in a decidedly-unmilitary manner.  “We still have our armour.”

“Indeed,” the First Space Lord agreed.  “Ark Royal might be able to survive where more modern carriers would have real problems.”

He tapped a switch, activating the star chart.  “We are still studying the records, of course, but it seems to me that the aliens managed to jump over nine light years to New Russia, judging by their appearance.  If this is the case, they have a major advantage over us.  In particular, they will be able to avoid all of our blocking forces and reach Earth directly.”

Ted nodded.  Earth possessed over seventy percent of humanity’s industrial base, population and fixed defences.  It wouldn't go down easily, but if Sol were to be lost the human race might as well set off and try to escape in a ragtag fleet of starships, hoping they could evade the enemy long enough to rebuild and return to restart the war.  But the odds would be against a successful escape.

“I believe that the aliens will attempt to jump here” – the First Space Lord tapped another star – “and use it as a waypoint on their road to Earth.  There’s nothing there, apart from a handful of tiny mining stations and independent settlements.  The aliens will have no trouble destroying them – or simply ignoring the settlers completely.  I want Ark Royal in position to intercept the enemy fleet.”

“And then ... what?”  Ted asked.  “We would be massively outgunned.”

“Delay them, force them back on their heels,” the First Space Lord said, grimly.  “Their carriers don’t appear to be any stronger than ours – and you have mass drivers and other projectile weapons.  I intend to attach a squadron of missile frigates too, once they’re worked up and ready for deployment.  If you can give them a bloody nose ...”

Ted saw the logic, even though it still seemed chancy.  It might well be a suicide mission, yet he could understand why the First Space Lord would want to keep the fighting as far from Earth as possible.  Between the political shockwaves and the panic that was likely to result, once the news finally broke, Earth would be in no state to defend itself.  

Commander Fitzwilliam studied the map for a long moment.  “What happened to New Russia?”

“We don’t know,” the First Space Lord confessed.  “But we’re not optimistic.”

“They might have wiped out most of the population,” Ted said, softly.  New Russia wasn't anything like as developed as Earth, but it would still be easy for the aliens to wipe out the settlements from orbit.  “Or they might have destroyed the orbital defences and moved onwards.”

“We don’t know,” the First Space Lord repeated.

He looked up, meeting Smith’s eyes.  “I confess I had my doubts about Ark Royal,” he admitted, keeping his voice so quiet that Smith had to strain to hear him.  “The ship seemed a waste of resources, nothing more than a dumping ground for crew we couldn't be bothered to sack.  Now ... she might be our salvation.”

Ted swallowed.  Ark Royal was effectively unique, the only carrier with such heavy armour – let alone primitive weapons.  It would take years to modify the yards to produce new armoured ships, unless the boffins came up with a new form of ablative armour that could be rapidly applied to the modern carriers.  If Ark Royal were to be lost ... but there was no alternative, at least as far as he could see.  The carrier was the only effective weapon humanity had.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, finally.

“You are to depart within two days,” the First Space Lord added.  He picked a datachip off his desk and passed it to Ted, who took it carefully.  “Your crew can send the usual messages, but make sure they know that they will be vetted and censored, if necessary.  We don’t want to panic the civilians.”

“Understood,” Ted said.  “Will any other ships be joining us?”

“It depends on international affairs,” the First Space Lord said.  “Right now, they’re still stunned.  They have to get through the recrimination stage before they start thinking what to actually do about the situation.”

Ted nodded.  It had been bare hours since the news had reached Earth.  By now, world leaders would have been briefed and were struggling to come to terms with the news from New Russia.  It wouldn't be long before the news leaked out, not with so many people already aware of it.  And then there would be panic ...

“Thank you, sir,” he said, again.  “We won’t let you down.”

***
James mentally replayed everything he’d seen and heard in the briefing as the shuttle carried them back to Ark Royal.  If he’d managed to get himself assigned to one of the modern carriers, he told himself, he might well have ensured his own death.  The details of the battle suggested, very strongly, that there were no actual survivors.  He’d known friends and family who had served in the unified defence fleet.  Those people were dead ... or alien prisoners, POWs trapped light years from friendly territory.  Would the aliens even bother to take prisoners?  There was no way to know.

“Call the senior officers for a briefing,” Captain Smith ordered, as soon as the shuttle had landed in the shuttlebay.  “And then put the entire ship under a communications barrier.  I don’t want anyone sending a message home, not yet.”

James nodded and started to work, grateful for the distraction.  He hadn't woken any of the other senior officers when they’d left the ship – the watch crew were the only ones awake – but he could see to that now.  Once he’d woken them, he contacted the communications department and ordered them to hold all personal messages.  The only ones allowed out of the ship would be priority messages from the senior crew.

“The war situation has taken a turn for the worse,” Captain Smith said, as soon as the senior officers had gathered in the briefing room.  “New Russia has fallen to the enemy.”

He ran through everything they’d been told, then showed the images from the battle.  The senior officers stared in disbelief; by any reasonable standard, the battle had been hellishly short.  Humanity didn't have much experience at space warfare, but simulations suggested that battles should take longer.

“Their starfighters seem to be less capable than ours, excepting the stealth and their weapons,” Schneider observed, finally.  “Their stealth systems can’t be perfect or they would use them all the time.”

James couldn't disagree.  He’d watched enough bad movies where the enemy weapons fire had seemed to come out of nowhere to know that it was a viable tactic, if the technology could be made to work.  But the aliens had deactivated their stealth before engaging the human carriers, even though keeping it would have given them a decisive advantage.  No, the systems couldn't be perfect ... unless, of course, the aliens thought that going in without stealth was honourable.  But who knew how aliens might think?

“We will study all of the records during the trip,” the Captain said.  “Our orders are to engage the enemy in this system.”

He ran through their orders and the rationale behind them.  “I know that these orders are a gamble,” he added, “but I see no alternative.  We will power up our systems this afternoon, then leave tomorrow.  Prior to then, I want all section heads to brief their subordinates, then remind them to write wills and record final messages.  Please also remind them that the censors will have a look at them first.”

James had to smile.  The crew wasn't stupid, they'd know better than to say anything too revealing.  But there were plenty of messages they could send that shouldn’t be shared any further, certainly not with a bureaucratic asshole just looking for something he could use to pretend he was doing something useful.

“If there is anything else you need,” he concluded, “I want you to request it by the end of the day.  We should have priority shipping for anything we want – as long as we can get it before our departure time.  If not ... it will just have to wait for us.”

There was a long pause.  “Dismissed!”

James lifted an eyebrow as Schneider caught his eye, then nodded and waited for the room to clear before speaking to the CAG.  “Yes?”

“Sir, one of my pilots had a ... friend on Formidable,” Schneider said.  “She probably won’t be the only one to have someone missing, perhaps dead.  Do you want me to talk to her?”

James hesitated.  As XO, it was his duty to see to it ... but Schneider was definitely closer to his pilots.  And besides, she almost certainly wasn't the only one to have a friend on the destroyed ships.

“Yes, please,” he said, finally.  He’d have to check the records, but they rarely showed anything more than relatives.  Someone might hear about their dead friend from the general ship-wide announcement.  “And if you feel she needs further counselling, please inform me.”

Schneider nodded and left the briefing room.  James watched him go, then reached for his terminal.  There would have been to be a general announcement before they powered up the drives for the first time ... after praying desperately for success.  James knew far too well just how tricky it would be to replace the fusion cores if they failed – it would take months, at the very least.

And by then humanity could very well have lost the war.

***
Kurt had to admit that, after a great deal of grumbling, his pilots had managed to sort out the squadron bunking in a suitable manner.  Their quarters had been cleaned, new bedding had been installed and there were even a small collection of reading devices, although the latter had barely been touched between endless exercises and napping.  Once they’d set up a working simulator, he’d kept his pilots too busy to do anything else.

There were no barriers offering any form of privacy, even when male and female pilots were sharing the same territory.  Body modesty was rare among naval crewmen – and besides, pilots were not supposed to show any untoward interest in one another.  Kurt had known that relationships happened a long time before he met Rose – and he’d actually had second thoughts about allowing mixed quarters – but he trusted her to behave herself.  But now ...

He leaned forward and tapped her on the shoulder.  Like most active-duty naval crewmen, she had long since mastered the art of snapping awake when called, which gave her an advantage over the reservists.  They had to relearn the art.  Kurt was ruefully aware that if an active-duty pilot had been assigned as CAG, there might well have been a mutiny in short order.  Reservists wouldn't take kindly to being treated as active-duty pilots, most of whom were young enough to get by on only a few hours of sleep a day.

“Sir?”  Rose asked, looking up at him.  “What’s happened?”

“Grab your robe and come with me,” Kurt ordered.  He glanced at the other bunks, where the remainder of the squadron were still sleeping.  “Quietly.”

He felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment as she rolled off her bunk, revealing that she was wearing an undershirt and panties ... and not much else.  The swell of her breasts was instantly noticeable, while her long legs were perfect, strongly muscled and very pale.  Irked, he looked away and paced out of the compartment.  She joined him a moment later and followed him down to the room he'd turned into a makeshift office.  He felt a moment of sympathy for her, all unaware of just how sharply her life had changed, then started to speak.

“Formidable has been destroyed,” he said, softly.  It still seemed unreal to him, even though he’d seen the records.  “As far as we know, she went up with all hands.”

Rose stared at him.  For a long moment, it was clear, she didn't believe what she was hearing.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  He wondered, briefly, if he’d made a mistake.  “I thought you should know ...”

“He can't be dead,” Rose said.  “He ...”

Kurt understood.  She would find it hard to come to terms with the news.  Rose wasn't listed as one of her boyfriend’s relatives; she wasn't, technically, entitled to a visit from officers bearing the bad tidings.  She wouldn't have heard the truth until the entire navy was told about the disaster.   And there wouldn't be any support for her ... would there be any support for anyone?  It had been a long time since the Royal Navy had lost so many crewmen in a single battle.  Even the catastrophic life support failure on HMS Impervious, fifteen years ago, had only killed seventeen crewmen.  

But the Battle of New Russia had killed nearly seven thousand officers and men.  Two carriers, twenty-two support ships and over seven hundred starfighters.  By any pre-war standard, the losses had been disastrous.  And they were far from over.

“He shouldn't have died,” Rose said.  Her entire body was shaking.  “I ... he can't be dead.”

Kurt reached out and drew her into a hug, feeling her shake against him as she broke down.  She’d genuinely loved her boyfriend; she’d accepted the assignment to Ark Royal, at least in part, because she wasn't willing to give him up.  But now ... he was gone.  Or, at best, an alien POW.  Did the aliens take prisoners?  Human history showed a wide range of possible treatment of prisoners, everything from reasonably nice camps to outright torture and enslavement.  What would the aliens consider acceptable?

He tried to push the thought aside as she sobbed.  Would Molly sob, he asked himself, if Ark Royal were to be destroyed?  If Kurt himself were to die?  Or would she force her feelings aside and carry on, for Penny and Percy if no one else?  What sort of help would be extended towards a widowed woman when there would be thousands of others in the same boat?

“I’m sorry,” Rose said.  There was a flat tone in her voice he didn't like at all.  “I won’t be a problem for you and ...”

“No, you won’t,” Kurt said, wishing he knew more about how to talk to someone who’d lost a lover in battle.  “You’ll get your chance to exact revenge.”

Rose looked up, her face blotchy and weepy.  “Are you sure?”

“We’re going to engage the enemy,” Kurt assured her.  He knew it wouldn't be easy – and he wasn't sure if he should be telling her at all, at least until the Captain made a formal announcement – but she needed to know.  “I think we’ll be leaving in a day or two.”

“Formidable is gone,” Rose said, bitterly.  “What chance do we stand?”

“We will see,” Kurt said.  There was no point in telling her, now, about the carrier’s armour - and how it might make a major difference in the next engagement.  He held her for a long moment, then gently let her go.  “I want you to take the next few hours off ...”

“No,” Rose said.  She shook her head firmly, then stood upright.  If her face hadn't been stained with tears, it would have been convincing.  “I can't show weakness.”

“Then I don’t want to see any problems from you,” Kurt said, changing his mind.  If she felt it would be better to throw herself into her work, he would let her do it and hope to hell it was the right thing to do.  “And we will be starting very early this morning.”

He pushed her gently towards the chair, then smiled.  “There's a washroom through there,” he said, indicating the hatch at the rear of the room.  “Wash yourself, then stay here for a couple of hours if you need to.  I won’t be using the room.”

“Thank you,” Rose said.  

She didn't look any better, Kurt decided.  Perhaps he should call the doctor and ask her to take a look at Rose.  But he knew she’d hate it.  Doctors, particularly psychologists, were despised by pilots.  And how could the pilots be blamed when psychologists tended to have no understanding of their lives, but banned them from flying whenever they thought there was cause for concern.  But now there was cause for concern.

Loyalty warred with prudence.  Loyalty won.

“I shall speak to you again before we go flying,” he said, finally.  If she still seemed off, he would make her see the doctor, no matter what happened.  “Until then, take care of yourself.”

Shaking his head, he walked out of the compartment and down towards the flight deck.  There was a spare simulator there, one he could use to review the records from New Russia.  He didn't know if he would find anything, just by replaying them time and time again, but there was no harm in looking.  Besides, Rose wasn’t the only one who wanted revenge.  Kurt wanted to make the aliens pay too.

Chapter Eight

A civilian, Ted knew, would not have been impressed with Ark Royal’s bridge.  The modern Royal Navy had wasted time making bridges look photogenic – naval crewmen joked that the consoles had explosive charges underneath so they could be detonated on cue – but that hadn't been a concern for Ark Royal’s designers. The bridge was nothing more than a collection of consoles, organised around a large command chair and a holographic display system.  There wasn't even a chair for the XO, who would be based in the CIC.  If something happened to the bridge, the CIC could take over.

He sat down and looked from console to console.  They were a curious mishmash of systems; thankfully, all of them were British rather than produced outside the British Commonwealth.  The engineers had worked them all together, but they had never really been tested in combat; now, Ted knew, they would find out just how well their jury-rigged modifications had actually worked.  He sucked in his breath as he activated his console and checked the situation reports flowing up from the various departmental heads.  Everyone claimed to be ready for departure.

“Begin power-up sequence,” he ordered.

A low hum ran through the ship as all six fusion cores powered up together.  All of them had been tested, one by one, but there had been no need to power them all up while they’d drifted in the reserves.  Now ... he watched the readings, silently praying that everything would work properly without problems.  In theory, they could operate with four fusion cores, but he didn't want to try it in practice.  If nothing else, there would be no redundancy if one of the cores failed during battle.

Or was destroyed, he thought, remembering how effectively the alien weapons had sliced the modern carriers apart.  What if we’re wrong about how effective our armour will be?

The thought made him scowl.  Someone had released the recordings of the battle onto the planetary datanet, provoking panic.  There had been riots in a dozen British cities, riots which had sucked away the attention of the military, making it harder for them to prepare for a possible invasion.  If Ark Royal couldn't delay the aliens long enough to prepare additional defences, Earth itself might be invaded sooner rather than later.  And who knew how the aliens would treat humanity’s homeworld?

He pushed the thought aside as Anderson called him.  “All six fusion cores are optimal, Captain,” the Chief Engineer said.  “Power curves are steady; I recommend we proceed with full power-up.”

Ted took another breath.  “Do it,” he ordered.  “Now.”

Ark Royal hadn't needed more than a tenth of the output of one fusion core to keep her essential systems running while she’d been in the reserves.  The power requirements were minimal; Ted knew he could have reduced them still further, if he hadn't wanted to keep the starship in something resembling fighting trim.  Now ... inch by inch, his starship was coming to life around him.  Section after section responded to the call and came online; sensors activated, sweeping space for hostile threats, while weapons systems prepared themselves to fire on potential targets.

“We have four sections that need urgent replacement,” Anderson said.  Red lights blinked up briefly in the status display, then faded away.  “I don’t think our work was up to scratch.  I’ve dispatched repair crews now.”

“Good,” Ted said.  He wasn't too surprised.  Given Ark Royal’s age and the number of different components that had been worked into her hull, he’d expected more than a few minor problems when they powered up for the first time.  “Are we ready for deployment?”

“Main drive system; online, ready to go,” Anderson said.  “Puller Drive; online, ready to go.”

There was a long pause as Ted closed his eyes, feeling his ship coming to life around him.  In the reserves, she had felt as if she were sleeping.  Now ... power was thrumming through her hull, her drives, weapons and sensors were online and her starfighters were ready to deploy.  The oldest starship still in service, anywhere, was ready and raring to go.

He smiled.  “Contact Nelson Base,” he ordered.  “Inform them that Ark Royal is ready for deployment.”

“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Annie Davidson said.  The communications officer had not been best pleased to be assigned to Ark Royal, once she’d been called from the reserves, but she’d started to change her mind after hearing about the loss of two modern carriers.  At least Ark Royal was capable of taking a beating and remaining functional.  “Message sent.”

Ted nodded.  Hardly anyone, apart from the First Space Lord and his staff, knew about Ark Royal’s mission.  To everyone else, she was just another ancient starship, pressed into service to fight a dangerously powerful foe.  Just like one of the civilian ships hastily being fitted with popguns, according to one reporter who’d been embedded on Nelson Base.  Ted had been offended for his command, but the truth had to remain concealed.  The reporter could be made to eat his own words later.

“They’re ordering us to proceed to our destination at once,” Annie said, after several minutes had gone by.  “There's a classified data package for you, sir.”

“Forward it to my console,” Ted ordered.  He looked over at Lightbridge.  The helmsman was looking keenly determined, staring down at his console as if he expected to have to react within a split second.  “Have you calculated an appropriate jump point?”

“Aye, sir,” Lightbridge said.  “We can reach our destination in two jumps.”

“Then take us to the jump point, best possible speed,” Ted ordered.  “But do not activate the Puller Drive without my specific authorisation.”

He settled back in his command chair and watched the updates from engineering as the crew scurried around, fixing the problems that had become apparent.  If there was a real problem, he knew, they would have to hold position in the Sol System so that it could be fixed ... but, thankfully, it didn't look as though there was any need to wait.  The engineering crew had the tools and spare parts to replace the useless or burned out components.  Anderson and his staff had spent the last two weeks scrounging up everything they could and stuffing every last compartment in the ship with spare parts.  Ark Royal could, in theory, operate for several years without needing outside supplies.

“The computer cores are holding together, thankfully,” Anderson said.  “I was worried they would object when we actually started to move.”

“I know,” Ted said.  “Keep monitoring their progress.”

He scowled, knowing how tricky that was likely to be.  The different generations of computer systems had never been designed to work together, let alone the ones that came from outside the Commonwealth.  In hindsight, he suspected, the human race might have good reason to regret not establishing a few common standards for technology.  Right now, a British carrier couldn't be repaired with spare parts from a Chinese carrier.  If the human race managed to remain united – and without unity, they were surely going to lose the war – that was going to have to be fixed.

Assuming we trusted them not to play games, he thought.  The Admiralty hadn't objected to Ark Royal’s crew using begged or scrounged Chinese components, but he'd always assumed that his superiors hadn't bothered to read his reports.  His crew had always checked the systems carefully, yet it was quite possible that they’d missed something dangerous, something the Chinese could use to manipulate the carrier to their advantage.  Would they try anything like that when the human race needed to remain united?

The starship quivered again as the main drives came to life, pushing her forward towards the jump point.  Ark Royal handled badly, compared to a frigate or a starfighters, but there was a reassuring firmness around her actions that more modern carriers lacked.  Or was that just his imagination, after seeing so many powerful ships torn apart with terrifying speed?  No wonder the civilians were panicking – along with quite a few politicians.  The Battle of New Russia had lasted barely ten minutes, most of which had been spent getting into position.

“Power curves remain nominal,” Anderson said.  “The main drive system is functional, sir.”

“Glad to hear it,” Ted said, dryly.  If the drive had failed, they'd know about it already.  “Repeat the standard tests on the Puller Drive, if you please.”

“Yes, sir,” Anderson said.

Ted tapped his console, accessing the data package as Ark Royal continued to move towards the jump point.  Every analyst in space had been working over the recordings from New Russia, drawing what conclusions they could.  Much of the data wasn't new, not entirely to Ted’s surprise, but there were some interesting suggestions.  One of them suggested that the alien ships could be tracked with a little careful effort.  Another insisted that the alien starfighters weren't really effective dogfighters at all.

Not that it matters, Ted thought.  They’re designed to break through to our carriers and rip them apart.

There was relatively little data on the alien capital ships, he noted, mostly consisting of uninformed speculation.  No one was even sure where the carriers launched their fighters; unlike human craft, the fighter launch tubes appeared to be worked solidly into their hulls.  It was an interesting design, he had to admit, suggesting that they weren't too worried about having their carriers targeted.  Did they have a good reason to be confident?

They have energy weapons on their starfighters, he thought, sourly.  Their hulls might be bristling with energy weapons too.

“Sir,” Lightbridge said, breaking into his thoughts, “we have reached the jump point.”

“Power up the Puller Drive,” Ted ordered.  He couldn't help feeling the old thrill of jumping out of the Sol System, even though it had been years since he’d been on an interstellar starship.  “And then sound the alert.”

Another quiver ran through the ship, followed  by a low hooting that warned all non-essential crew to brace themselves for the jump.  Most spacers grew used to it fairly quickly, but there were always a handful who couldn't take the jump without throwing up or even being rendered comatose.  Over a hundred years of FTL travel hadn't yielded any way to identify such people before they took their first jump, although it manifested very quickly.  Back at the Academy, British spacers were taken through a jump within the first six months of their training.  If they reacted badly, they were assigned to in-system positions only.

Like Ark Royal, he thought, grimly.  His crew included a few people who couldn't take the jump, but were desperately needed to keep the starship functional.  It was something the Admiralty had overlooked at the time.  Ted and Commander Fitzwilliam had dealt with the problem by ordering all such personnel to sickbay before the jump, but they knew it was only a temporary solution.  The crewmen would have to be relieved of duty sooner rather than later.

“Puller drive online,” Lightbridge said.

“All systems check out properly,” Anderson added.  “The drive is in full working order.”

And thank god for that, Ted thought.  The Puller Drive had never seemed very important, not compared to all the other systems that had to be kept operational for Ark Royal to remain on the books.  And it couldn't really be replaced without chopping open the hull, which would take months.  He keyed his console, checking the power curves for himself.  For something that was surprisingly simple, the Puller Drive was a colossal power hog.

“Good,” Ted said.  He looked around the bridge, feeling a hint of pride in his crew.  They’d practiced endlessly over the last two weeks, but this was real.  “Jump!”

The Puller Drive wasn’t – technically – a drive at all.  Over a century ago, Professor Wang had discovered the existence of gravitational tramlines running between stars and planets – and then worked out a system for exploiting them.  If the Puller Drive was triggered at the right place along the tramline, the ship would jump instantly from one star system to the next ... providing the tramline was strong enough to allow it.  There were stars it was possible to jump to, but not possible to jump back along the same tramline.  A black hole, Wang had warned, might be impossible to escape.  Its sheer mass would bend the tramlines out of shape.  Fortunately, there were none within human space.

For a long moment, the universe seemed to darken ... and then snap back to normal.  Ted let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, then glanced down at his console.  The Puller Drive was cycling down, all power curves still nominal.  Ted allowed himself a tight smile.  His ship might be old, but she was still fully functional and ready for action.

“Jump completed, sir,” Lightbridge reported.  “No problems detected.”

“Take us to the next tramline,” Ted ordered.

Jumping along a tramline was instantaneous – or close enough to instant to make it impossible to provide a precise estimate of how long it took.  Moving from tramline to tramline, on the other hand, could take hours.  Ted wasn't blind to the implications of the aliens having a Puller Drive that allowed longer jumps; they might easily outflank humanity’s defenders and then attack Earth, just as the First Space Lord had predicted.  They might need to spend a few years mopping up afterwards, but the loss of Earth would cost humanity the war.

“Picking up a signal from Terra Nova,” Annie said.  “They’re requesting our IFF.  And they sound a little jumpy.”

“I’m not surprised,” Ted said.  Ark Royal looked different enough from a modern carrier to be alarmingly unfamiliar to long-range sensors.  They might well mistake her for an alien ship.  “Shoot them a copy of our IFF, then inform them that we are proceeding to the next tramline.”

He sighed.  Terra Nova had been the first planet humanity had settled, with each and every ethnic, racial or religious group being offered an enclave.  It hadn't worked out very well; none of the interstellar powers felt inclined to invest in it, while the smaller powers didn't have the resources to turn the planet into a success.  Ironically, it turned out that human groups were perfectly capable of getting along provided there was some distance between them.  Several light years seemed about perfect.

And Terra Nova is practically defenceless, he thought, grimly.  None of the bigger powers would risk political unrest by devoting starships to defending a world many civilians regarded as a barbarous backwater.  There were only a handful of starships in the system, none of which were modern and several of which were older than Ark Royal.  It wouldn't take the aliens long to overwhelm them and take the system.  If, of course, they were inclined to bother.

Just how much did the aliens know about humanity?  There was no way to know what they might have recovered from Vera Cruz – an intact navigational database would have told them the location of each and every settled planet in human space – but there could be no doubt about what they could have recovered from New Russia.  It was unlikely in the extreme that the Russians would have managed to destroy all of their files before the aliens landed ... no, they had to assume the worst.  The aliens knew where to find their targets.

But what else did they know?  If they had time to go through everything on New Russia, they probably knew just how vital Earth was to the unified defence force.  And then ...

“Captain,” Lightbridge said, “we are approaching the second tramline.”

Ted pushed his morbid thoughts aside.  “Understood,” he said.  “Power up the Puller Drive, then jump us to our next destination.”

He forced himself to remain calm as the universe darkened once again, before snapping back to normal.  This time, there were no major settlements in the system.  The early survey parties had found nothing of interest, beyond a handful of comets, and nothing had turned up since to make the system more interesting.  But that didn't stop it being useful.  Four different tramlines ran through the system, allowing it to serve as a transfer point for interstellar shipping.  The corporation that had laid claim to the system did a roaring trade in supplies, including some that were technically illegal elsewhere.  None of the major interstellar powers wanted to intervene, not when it might have provoked a major confrontation.

“Transit completed, sir,” Lightbridge said.

“Very good,” Ted agreed.  “Take us to the next tramline.”

He looked back down at his console, reading the updates from the departmental heads.  There didn't seem to be any major problems, thankfully, which meant that they were as close to being ready for action as they were ever likely to get.  But if the First Space Lord was wrong ... Ark Royal might miss out on the war entirely, then find herself forced to flee.  Rumour had it that some ships were already taking colonists – and a small industrial base – well away from the aliens.  But rumour was unreliable at the best of times.

They’d have real problems maintaining that technological base, he thought.  Or of choosing the colonists, when the time came to leave.

Tapping a switch, he brought up the First Space Lord’s modified chart, showing the tramlines he believed the aliens could use.  Ted saw his logic, but the whole conclusion rested on a dangerous gamble.  What if the aliens had tricked the human observers?  Or what if their tech was vastly more advanced than anyone had realised?  Hell, what if they’d managed to escape the tramlines entirely?

We'd be dead, he thought.  Escaping the tramlines was the holy grail of human gravitational research.  If that happens, the war will be lost completely ...

Shaking his head, he brought up another piece of analysis, but rapidly realised that it was worse than useless.  There was no hard data on the aliens, so speculations on their psychology and motivation were pointless.

We know they want to kill us, he thought, dryly.  That's the important detail.  Everything else is immaterial.

Chapter Nine

No one had bothered to give the system a name, not even the miners who had flocked to the asteroid cluster when a survey party had discovered that the asteroids were rich in raw materials.  The brief wave of interest in the system hadn't lasted past the discovery of other sources in more habitable systems, leaving a handful of miners and settlers making a living from selling what they mined at low cost.  According to the database, most of the settlers really wanted to isolate themselves from the rest of the human race.

It was hard to escape the feeling, James decided, that they had succeeded.  If Ark Royal hadn't known the settlements were there, it was quite possible that they would have been overlooked.  They were really nothing more than a handful of mined-out asteroids, closed ecosystems powered by solar collectors.  There wasn't much room for expansion, he knew, but they could maintain their position for hundreds of years before they had to make some hard choices.  By then, human space would have changed so radically that who knew what sort of society would greet them, if they chose to return home?

Ark Royal hung near the tramline to Earth – or where the tramline would be, if the Old Lady’s drive had been able to use it.  Predicting where the aliens might go was easy enough, assuming that the First Space Lord’s calculations had been correct.  There was certainly nothing else to interest the aliens; the settlements weren't worth the effort of destroying them, assuming that the aliens weren’t bent on total genocide.  But if they were wrong ...

He looked up at the display, seeing a handful of fast-attack frigates hanging close to the massive carrier.  They’d arrived the day after Ark Royal, bringing updates from Earth, including records from a Russian starship that had remained concealed and watched as the aliens landed on New Russia.  Apparently, the aliens had bombarded the planetary defence centres, but otherwise ignored the human population.  James couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing.  It was good, because it suggested that the aliens weren't bent on genocide after all, yet it was also bad because it prevented contact between humans and aliens.  There was no hope of opening a dialogue that might result in peace talks.

Not that they have to worry, he thought, grimly.  As long as they’re winning, they can dictate terms to us and we will have to bend over and take them.

“Captain on the deck,” the duty officer said.

James turned to see Captain Smith entering the CIC.  The Captain looked galvanised, but – like the rest of his crew – he was clearly worried about what they were doing in the unnamed system.  If they were wrong about the alien plans, they were quite likely to discover it the hard way, when they finally returned to Earth and found it under alien occupation.  James was merely relieved that the Captain hadn't started to drink again.  If he did, James would have to relieve him of command ... which would almost certainly doom James’s career too.

“Captain,” he said.  “We have finished deploying the decoys.”

The Captain nodded.  They’d hashed out the possibilities endlessly, but one thing had been clear from the start.  They would have to lure the aliens to their position, not gamble on the aliens appearing right next to them.  Any planetary system, even one orbiting an insignificant red dwarf, was so vast that the odds against them being in the right place were staggeringly high.  But if the aliens thought they had a valid set of targets ...

“Activate them,” the Captain ordered.  “And hope that they fool the aliens.”

James nodded.  The drones were the most advanced decoys produced by human technology, but no one knew what the aliens would make of them.  If their sensor technology was advanced enough, they would probably realise that the decoys weren't real carriers and give them a wide berth.  Or maybe they would assume that the decoys were nothing more than a bluff.

He keyed a switch, activating the drones.  Sensor ghosts appeared briefly on the display, showing the location of five modern carriers.  Even knowing that the images weren't real, Ark Royal’s sensor crews had difficulty separating the illusions from reality.  Hopefully, the aliens wouldn’t question what they saw.

“They won’t see any starfighters,” he warned.  “Or, rather, they won’t see enough starfighters.”

The Captain shrugged.  Ark Royal carried four wings of starfighters; a modern carrier could carry ten, along with a small armada of smaller craft.  There was no way their four wings could pretend to be the fighters attached to five modern carriers, but if they were lucky the aliens would assume that the remaining fighters hadn't been launched.  Or maybe they would think that the human carriers were trying to retreat ...

James made a face.  There were too many flaws in the plan for him to be entirely comfortable with it.  

Idiot, he told himself.  If you’d taken command, you would have to grapple with the same problems yourself.

An alarm sounded, making him jump.  “Sir,” Farley said, “we just picked up a warning signal from the sensor drones.  Seven enemy carriers and forty smaller ships have just jumped into the system.”

“Show me,” the Captain ordered.  Red icons appeared on the display, surrounded by lines projecting their course and speed.  They were heading towards the predicted tramline.  “It appears we have company.”

“Yes, sir,” James said, feeling cold ice running down the back of his spine.  The aliens had chopped through twelve modern carriers ... what if they were wrong about Ark Royal’s armour?  Or what if they were right ... and they were still overwhelmed anyway.  “I think they saw the drones.”

On the display, the alien craft altered course.  “No fighters,” the Captain noted.  “Or are they there and we can’t see them?”

James shrugged.  A human CO might keep his pilots in the launch tubes as long as possible, giving them what protection he could, but who knew how the aliens thought?

The Captain keyed his terminal.  “Red alert,” he said, “I say again, red alert.  All hands to battlestations.”

A low drumbeat echoed through the ship, bringing the crew to full readiness.  “I’m going to the bridge,” the Captain added.  “We’re about to find out the truth for ourselves.”

James nodded, then turned back to the display.

***
“Get your ass in gear,” Kurt snapped, as the pilots ran for their starfighters.  “Into the cockpits, now!  Move, damn it!”

He scrambled up the ladder into his own cockpit, then hastily keyed the switch to bring his fighter to full power.  They’d been sitting in the ready room when the alert had sounded; if he’d had his druthers, half of the formation would have been on combat space patrol at all times.  But he understood the Captain’s logic, even if he didn’t like it.  They didn't dare let the aliens seem something that suggested the decoy carriers weren't real.

“Ready for launch,” he said, once he’d strapped himself into the cockpit.  “Check in, by the numbers.”

One by one, the pilots sounded off.  Nothing had gone wrong, thankfully; he’d seen several deployments when starfighters had suffered failures that had forced the crews to hold them back long enough to be fixed.  Pilots hated it when that happened, but Kurt suspected that it was better than suffering a catastrophic failure while in interplanetary space.  He checked in with the CIC as soon as all of the pilots had reported in, then braced himself for the launch.  It always felt like a roller coaster, despite the best compensators the Royal Navy could produce.

He forgot his concerns as soon as he was blasted out of the tube into interstellar space.  The stars burned brightly around him, illuminating the darkened shape of the carrier.  There was no way they could see the alien craft with the naked eye, but their carriers were showing up clearly on his display.  The starfighters, on the other hand, weren't showing up at all.  He gritted his teeth, realised just how dangerous the alien stealth systems could be.  If their sensors were unreliable, the aliens could just snipe the human craft out of visual range, picking them off one by one.

“Additional sensor drones are being launched,” the XO said.  “If the aliens can't maintain their stealth when they go to full power ...”

And if they can, we’re dead, Kurt thought.  He looked back at the alien carriers on the display, trying to estimate how long it would take the alien starfighters to enter engagement range.  But there just wasn't enough hard data to make a realistic guess.

“Alpha and Beta, with me,” he ordered.  “Delta and Gamma, remain to cover the Old Lady.”

He listened to the acknowledgements, then gunned the starfighter’s thrusters, forcing it forward.  Ahead of them, the alien carriers grew larger on the display.

***
Ted wanted a drink, desperately.  Something to give him a little courage and determination, something to keep him going as seven massive alien carriers bore down on his command.  It was clear that the aliens had been fooled by the decoys – it was the only explanation that made sense – and yet, he knew all too well that they had the firepower to deal with the illusionary ships.  He needed a drink ...

He forced the thought aside as he watched his starfighters advancing towards the enemy, fighters taking the lead while the bombers followed afterwards, waiting for their chance to launch their missiles at the enemy ships.  The aliens had a definite unfair advantage, he decided; their starfighters could switch roles effortlessly, while the human craft were easy to separate out, isolating the ones that posed a definite threat to the enemy ships.  He had no doubt that the aliens intended to take advantage of their technology as much as possible.  It was what he would have done.

“Picking up some odd distortion as the drones advance forward,” Farley said.  The tactical officer was staring down at his console, puzzled.  “We might be able to provide rough locations for the alien fighters.”

“We need something more precise,” Ted said.  They could detonate a string of nukes ... but if they weren't careful, they’d risk damaging their own starfighters too.  “Can you get a lock on them we can use to ...”

He broke off as new red icons blinked into existence.  Despite himself, he couldn't help a flicker of admiration for the alien technology ... and the pilots of the alien starfighters.  Flying so close to their target was ballsy, all right, even if they knew they were effectively invisible.  But now they could be seen ... he watched as Gamma wing altered course, swinging up to confront the alien craft, while Delta wing remained behind to shield the carrier’s hull.  So far, their planning seemed to have paid off.

“Clear to engage,” he ordered, as the alien starfighters accelerated forward.  Their power curves were definitely less capable than human starfighters ... and there was a curious elegance about them that seemed oddly impractical.  Or maybe they genuinely could operate within a planetary atmosphere.  “I say again, clear to engage.”

“They’re coming right towards us now,” Commander Fitzwilliam said, through the intercom.  “They must have realised that the other carriers are decoys.”

“Looks that way,” Ted agreed.  “Deactivate the drones.  We can recover them after the battle.”

He scowled as the alien craft came closer, showing no hint of surprise when the dummy carriers vanished from the screens.  Yes, they’d definitely seen through the deception ... he tried, quickly, to work out when they’d seen through it, but it was impossible to say for sure.  He pushed the thought aside, gritting his teeth.  The whole theory about his ship’s armour was about to be put to the test.

The alien starfighters didn't bother to do more than fire a handful of shots at the human starfighters as they roared past them, concentrating instead on Ark Royal.  Ted watched, feeling a moment of relief as four alien starfighters vanished from the display, picked off by his ships, then braced himself as they came into engagement range.  This was where they’d torn the more advanced carriers apart ... a handful of them fell to the carrier’s point defence, but the remainder kept boring in.  He watched, mentally praying desperately to a god he wasn't sure he believed in, as the alien weapons flared to life ... and slammed into the carrier’s armour.

“No major damage,” Anderson reported.  The Chief Engineer sounded as relieved as Ted felt.  “I say again, no major damage.”

“Continue firing,” Ted ordered, as Delta wing chased the alien starfighters over the carrier’s hull.  “Drive them away from us.”

He glanced down at the reports, sighing in relief.  Ark Royal’s armour could take the alien blasts ... but it wouldn't stop the alien starfighters from disarming and blinding the carrier by picking off her weapons and sensors.  One by one, the alien craft fell back towards their own carriers, clearly rethinking their task.  Behind them, Gamma wing gave chase while Delta wing remained with Ark Royal.

“Lock mass drivers on target,” he ordered.  The alien carriers were coming into effective range, although – unlike powered missiles – the mass drivers were nothing more than ballistic weapons.  “Prepare to fire.”

What, he asked himself absently, would a mass driver do to a modern carrier?  Assuming a direct hit, it would rip the carrier apart from end to end.  It made him wonder if there had been a quiet agreement among the various interstellar powers to ban mass drivers from starships, even though they were effective weapons.  If there was, it wouldn't last much longer, not if the theories were correct.  The aliens were about to be kissed.

“Weapons locked on target,” Farley reported.  “Ready to fire.”

Ted smiled.  “Fire,” he ordered.

Projectiles launched from mass drivers couldn't alter course, allowing them to be evaded fairly easily if the target saw them coming.  But they made up for that by being immensely destructive if they did hit, as well as fast enough to give the targets relatively little warning of their arrival.  The aliens clearly didn't see them coming in time; one carrier was smashed amidships by a projectile, while another, clearly badly damaged, limped out of formation and started to retreat.

“Two direct hits,” Farley said.  On the display, the first alien carrier disintegrated in a series of tearing explosions.  “The mass driver is reloading.”

“Fire as soon as possible,” Ted ordered.  The mass driver took too long to reload, another problem that would have to be solved before the end of the war.  “Target an untouched alien ship.”

The aliens seemed uncertain of what to do, he realised, as he watched their formation spread apart.  They clearly hadn't expected the mass driver, but now they’d seen it they were taking precautions, making it harder to guarantee a direct hit.  And mass drivers needed direct hits to be effective ...

“Take us towards them,” he ordered.  Ark Royal was large and intimidating and she’d just handed out the worst beating the aliens had taken in the war.  If they were lucky, the aliens might just break off ... but he wasn’t sure he wanted them to break off.  He wanted revenge for the dead crewmen who’d died at New Russia.  “Order our escorts to open fire.”

The alien starfighters altered course, then swept back towards Ark Royal.  Ted watched grimly as he realised what the aliens had in mind.  Take out the mass driver, take out the missile tubes ... and Ark Royal would be practically defenceless.  He barked orders as the alien craft closed in, blowing through the defending starfighters, only to run straight into the teeth of the carrier’s point defence.  They weren't even trying to stealth themselves.

The stealth system must have a huge power requirement, he decided, as the starfighters lanced down and opened fire.  Again, the armour deflected most of it, but a number of weapons and sensors were blown off the hull.  Absently, he wondered what would happen if the aliens kept firing into where the weapons had been.  There were additional layers of armour under the primary hull, but they weren't as thick as the first line of defence.

“Firing,” Farley reported.  There was a long pause as five solid projectiles raced towards their targets.  “One hit; three more picked off by the aliens.”

One solid miss, Ted noted.  He cursed under his breath.  The aliens had thought of using counter-battery fire – and, unlike most offensive weapons, mass drivers were vulnerable to defensive fire.  It was simple enough to predict their courses and take them out before it was too late.  Given time, the human raced might manage to build enough mass driver-armed ships to render that a moot point, but God alone knew what the aliens would improvise as a countermeasure.  Or were they incapable of innovation?  It didn't seem likely.  

They’re not stupid, he told himself.  Dealing with a stupid enemy would be easier – but a stupid enemy could never have built those ships.  Whatever else they are, they're not stupid.

He scowled.  He really needed a drink.

“Lock missiles on target, then open fire,” he ordered, instead.  On the display, the alien carriers had started to reverse course, tacitly abandoning the battlefield.  But it would take them at least ten minutes to reach a usable tramline.  He’d be able to use that time to hammer their ships into scrap metal.  “And continue firing with the mass drivers until we run out of projectiles.”

“Aye, sir,” Farley said.  “Opening fire ... now.”

On the display, Ark Royal and her escorts went to rapid fire.  Moments later, the enemy point defence came to life, spewing out blasts of plasma fire like machine gun bursts ...

Ted gritted his teeth.  If they shot their magazines dry, the aliens could still win.  This was going to hurt ...