Battlecruiser Alamo: Pyrrhic Victory Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  PYRRHIC VICTORY

  Battlecruiser Alamo: Book 21

  Richard Tongue

  Battlecruiser Alamo #21: Pyrrhic Victory

  Copyright © 2016 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved

  First Kindle Edition: September 2016

  Cover By Keith Draws

  With thanks to Ellen Clarke and Rene Douville

  All characters and events portrayed within this ebook are fictitious; any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Join the Triplanetary Universe Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/A9MdX

  To the People of Texas & All Americans in the World:

  Fellow citizens & compatriots—I am besieged, by a thousand or more of the Mexicans under Santa Anna—I have sustained a continual Bombardment & cannonade for 24 hours & have not lost a man. The enemy has demanded a surrender at discretion, otherwise, the garrison are to be put to the sword, if the fort is taken—I have answered the demand with a cannon shot, & our flag still waves proudly from the walls. I shall never surrender or retreat.

  Then, I call on you in the name of Liberty, of patriotism & everything dear to the American character, to come to our aid, with all dispatch—The enemy is receiving reinforcements daily & will no doubt increase to three or four thousand in four or five days. If this call is neglected, I am determined to sustain myself as long as possible & die like a soldier who never forgets what is due to his own honor & that of his country—Victory or Death.

  William Barret Travis

  Lt. Col. comdt

  Chapter 1

   Lieutenant Pavel Salazar lay on his bunk, watching the stars slowly slide through space as his ship drifted into position. A winding tentacle of rock drifted past, a sign of a minute course correction from the bridge to keep them in the shade of the asteroid ahead, a shield to block any scans from ships entering the system. It wouldn't protect them for long, only a matter of minutes, but hopefully long enough to give them a chance to flee the system.

   Retreat.

   He ran the bitter word around his mouth, as though ready to spit it out onto the deck. Three months ago, he'd fled Copernicus Colony, pulled out of Alamo with wounds that almost killed him, leaving most of his crew-mates, his comrades, back to face the theoretical mercy of the Xandari. His eye itched, as it always seemed to when he thought of that battle, and he reached up with a finger to scratch, cursing as he reached the eye-patch for the hundredth time.

   There had been no way to save his eye. All Doctor Duquesne could do was remove the tattered remnants, and hope that at some point she'd have the equipment to provide him with a bionic replacement. Until then, it was the eye-patch. With a deep sigh, he reached over to the communicator, fumbling in the dark for the switch, unwilling to raise the lights.

   “Salazar to bridge,” he finally said. “Any sign?”

   “Nothing, skipper,” Spaceman Spinelli, a fellow exile from Alamo, replied. “Everything's quiet.”

   Glancing at the clock, Salazar said, “We've got an appointment soon, haven't we?”

   “Scheduled departure was two hours ago, sir.”

   “Keep watching, Spaceman. We'll wait a little while longer. Salazar out.”

   Command of a ship. Something he had begun to aspire to, a potential goal for the future. This wasn't what he'd had in mind. He looked around the unfamiliar lines of the cabin, still strange and alien after all these weeks, and shook his head. Random Walk was a Neander ship, designed by a people who were human – almost. With enough physiological changes that the light was too dim, the air too cold, a strange tang in the background he couldn't quite get used to.

   At least most of the controls were familiar. The ship had been badly damaged in their first firefight at Copernicus, then took more during their escape, a skeleton crew fighting it clear of the system. By the time they had regrouped after the fight, he'd recovered sufficiently to take command, more out of a general assumption than any specific decision. They'd patched the ship together with anything they could find, mostly scavenged from Daedalus.

   He glanced at the holoimage on the wall, taken just before they'd left. Lieutenant Kristen Harper looked down at him, the trace of a smile on her face, her uniform battered and beaten as ever. She was somewhere out in space at the helm of her own ship, on a mission similar to his. Picket duty. Watching and waiting to gather intelligence about the Xandari, hoping they could think of some way to turn disaster into victory. After three months, neither of them had come up with anything. Not yet, anyway.

   At least he'd be seeing her again in a few days, back at the rendezvous point. Always assuming that Daedalus wasn't a tumble of ruined debris in some forgotten system by now, destined to wander through the universe forever, a helpless speck of dust in the infinite void. He shook his head, trying to dispel his fears, knowing that they would remain until he saw her again, held her in his arms again. She could take care of herself, probably better than he could on the basis of past performance, but he couldn't help worrying.

   Rising to his feet, he reached for his uniform jacket, tossing it over his shoulders as he walked out into the corridor. He was spending too much time in his quarters as it was, alone with his thoughts. There just wasn't much else to do. Theoretically, he should be working on battle strategies, trying to conjure the miracle they would need to turn the war around, but his mind refused to focus. There had to be some way to beat them, something he hadn't thought of, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think of it.

   “Captain?” a voice said from behind him. He hesitated for a moment, then turned to see Arturo Lombardo, his Systems Officer, walking down the corridor with a burned-out conduit in his hand. “I was just coming to see you, sir.”

   “That still sounds wrong,” Salazar replied. “You say that, and I keep waiting for Captain Orlova to reply. Or Captain Marshall.”

   With a shrug, the engineer replied, “Unless they've stowed away somewhere, you're the only commander around. And as far as I'm concerned, that's not a problem.” He paused, then added, “Remember Phaeton?”

   Memories came flooding back, strange beasts racing through the corridors of his mind, and he replied, “How could I forget?”

   “You saved us then, sir, and you'll save us now. I have faith, even if you don't. We'll get through this, one way or another.”

   Shaking his head, Salazar answered, “I hope so, Sub-Lieutenant.”

   Making a face, Lombardo said, “That's going to take a very long time to get used to.” Waving the conduit in the air, he added, “We lost another section of the power distribution net.”

   Salazar sighed, and said, “How bad is it this time?”

   “Long-range communications, aft sensors, auxiliary reactor. I've got Bartlett and Itzel working on it, but it's going to take a while to fix. Most of the components are buried deep in the hull.”

   “How long?”

&nb
sp;  “Twenty-four hours, working around the clock.” Shaking his head, he said, “There's not much I can do, I'm afraid. Throwing more bodies at the job wouldn't work, even if we had them to spare. It's a two-man job, and I've got the best two working on it now.”

   “Keep at it, Art,” he replied. “What about the rest of the ship?”

   “She's held together with duct tape and prayer, Skipper, and I'm all out of duct tape. One hit in the wrong place would finish us for good.” Tapping the hull, he added, “She's doing the best she can, sir, but there's only so much we can ask of her. So much we have any right to ask of her.”

   Salazar's communicator squawked, and he tugged it out of his pocket, flipping it open and saying, “Go ahead.”

   “Bridge here, sir,” Spinelli said. “We're getting signs of dimensional instability at the near hendecaspace point. Slowly building, but confirmed. I'd say we're three minutes away from company.”

   “Damn. Go to battle stations, Spaceman, and call the alert crew to the bridge. I'll be up in a minute.”

   “Aye, sir,” he replied. An instant later, a siren rang through the corridor, a blaring klaxon calling the crew to their posts. Without a word, Lombardo raced away, heading to his duty station, and Salazar started in the opposite direction, making for the bridge. He tugged out his datapad, salvage from lost Alamo, scanning the tactical situation as he walked, shaking his head at the combat status display. Random Walk was a good ship, but a warship she wasn't, not any more.

   “Watch out, sir,” Lieutenant Ryan said, stepping out of a door, almost walking into him. When the Copernican government had switched sides, they'd left him stranded, abandoning him to his fate. He conspicuously wore a plain jumpsuit, only his old rank insignia pinned to the shoulder.

   “Sorry, Mike. Something wicked this way comes. You heading for Auxiliary Control?”

   “Such as it is.” He smiled, and added, “As things stand, it's more likely a systems malfunction would put me in charge than battle damage.” He paused, then said, “You're sure you want me down there?”

   “I trust you,” Salazar said, clapping his hand on Ryan's arm. “I don't care what your father did. We've fought together. I trusted you then, and I trust you now.”

   “I won't let you down,” he replied. “I just want one good crack at those bastards.”

   “You'll get your chance. We all will. Good luck.”

   With a nod, Ryan ran down a side corridor, heading for the improvised Auxiliary Control, a few spare panels thrown into an empty storage unit. In a dire emergency, he might be able to get the ship away, but Salazar didn't want to test it. He looked after him for a second, at the fierce determination in the man's steps, and shook his head. Ryan had lost everything, his home, his family, even the uniform he wore, and he was still standing tall, ready to fight on. Something to be proud of.

   He climbed up the ladder at the end of the corridor, rising to the bridge, and slid into his command chair, looking around at the rest of the crew. Spinelli and Weitzman at their usual places, the sensor and communication stations, just as they would have been back on Alamo. Midshipman Maqua at the helm, the young shuttle pilot he'd rescued back at the start of this mission, now a seasoned veteran with a dozen battles of experience under his belt.

   Scrambling after him, the sullen Hooke dropped down in front of the countermeasures station, muttering under his breath as he brought the defensive systems on-line. He was good at his job, one of the few talented hackers they had left, even if he did have an attitude problem the size of a small moon.

   “Dimensional instability growing, sir,” Spinelli reported. “Resolution's lousy, though. I'm having trouble getting a clear image.”

   “Power failures in the aft sensors,” Salazar replied. “Work with what you have, Spaceman.”

   “We're certainly getting used to that,” Hooke complained. “Everything's functioning at my end.”

   “Tactical systems on-line,” Sub-Lieutenant Foster, his tactical officer, added. “All launch tubes ready.”

   “Let's hope we don't need to use them,” Salazar said. “Midshipman, I presume you have a best-speed course to the hendecaspace point plotted and ready?”

   “Updated every half-hour, sir. Course is already on the board, ready to execute at your command.”

   With a smile, Salazar replied, “Excellent. Hold on that until I give the word. If the bastards are finally making an appearance, we've got to get as much information out of them as we can. Any idea on the size of the incoming ship, Spinelli?”

   “Ships, sir. Estimate two, one similar to us, one larger. Capital ship size.”

   “Damn,” Foster said. “They're bringing in heavy reinforcements. That'll give them three capital ships at Copernicus. A strike force large enough to smash right through everything we have left and take Testament Station.”

   “First ship emerging!” Spinelli said, and a blue flash appeared on the viewscreen, briefly winking into existence. “Heavy Scout, Tango-Class in our database. Approximately equivalent to Random Walk, sir.”

   “If we were in a good state of repair,” Hooke added, sotto voce. “Four missile tubes to our three, and if just one of them...”

   “What about the other ship?” Salazar said, interrupting the disgruntled crewman.

   “One minute minus, sir.” The sensor technician paused, then added, “The Tango is executing a search pattern. Checking for anything in the immediate area.” He turned, then said, “They're bound to pick us up soon, Captain, but I'd say we have a few minutes before they spot us.”

   “Let me know…,” Salazar began, but before he could finish his order, a warning light flashed on over Spinelli's station, and a second disruption began to appear, this time at the far hendecaspace point. “Is that what I think it is, Spaceman?”

   With a resigned nod, Spinelli replied, “Dimensional instability at the other egress point, sir. Similar to the first ship, at a guess. I'd say it's a second Tango.”

   “Trapped,” Foster said. “They've found us. Recommend we head out of the system at once.”

   Shaking his head, Salazar said, “They had no way of knowing that we were here, Major, Even if they had a spy on board, he had no way of passing on his information. Whatever this is, we aren't the goal.” Rising from the chair, he looked at the tactical display, and said, “We hold until the large ship arrives. That's what all of this is about, unless I miss my guess.”

   “Any second now, sir,” Spinelli said. “Here we go.”

   A second flash appeared on the screen, and a ship tumbled out into normal space. Salazar's eyes widened as he looked at the new arrival, the viewscreen automatically flicking to maximum magnification. Despite the blurred image, he knew what he was looking at well enough that he could have recognized it, no matter what the resolution.

   “Alamo,” Weitzman said, transfixed on the screen. “But...”

   “They've repaired her,” Salazar said, shaking his head. “Fixed her up, and taken her into their fleet.” Rage filled his soul, and he looked at the tactical display, determined for a brief second to take his ship into battle, to attempt to avenge her capture, but a cold analysis of the situation told him that it was hopeless. Alamo belonged to the Xandari, and one broken-down scoutship wasn't going to change that. Not yet.

   “Trying to get data, sir,” Spinelli said. “It's tricky at the range. She's still got some damage, but I can't tell where. There's a power buildup in the laser cannon, though. That much I can see.”

   “Meaning the ship must be all but operational,” Maqua said from the helm.

   “Intercept course, Midshipman,” Salazar said, sitting back in the command chair. “I want to get as close to Alamo as you can, then out to the near hendecaspace point.”

   Wide-eyed, Maqua replied, “That's going to be hazardous, sir. They'll have plenty of chances to swat us out of the sky, especially...”

   “I'm
aware of that, Midshipman, but we came here to gather information, and that's just what we're going to do. Alamo is the most powerful part of their fleet, and if we're going to destroy it...” He paused, conscious for a moment at his words, then continued, “If we're going to destroy it, we have to know if there are any weak spots. Execute course when ready.”

   “Aye, sir.”

   “Setting missiles to defensive screen,” Foster said, shaking her head. “I recommend we fire a salvo at the extreme limit of combat range, have them fly alongside. Then a second salvo at closest approach.”

   “Do it, Major, and if you get a target of opportunity, by all means take advantage of it. Spinelli, we're only going to get one shot at this, so get as much data as you can.”

   “Will do, sir.”

   “Course ready, Captain,” Maqua said. “Implementing now.”

   Random Walk's engines roared into life, the acceleration rising to maximum, trajectory plot changing as it began to lumber out of the system. She gathered more speed with every second, but the enemy were fast to react, spotting her within an instant, moving to intercept courses. Salazar glanced across at the tactical display, and smiled. The newly arrived ship on the far side of the system was holding position, assuming that he was trying to feint them away. Not a bad tactic, but he didn't have any intention of using it this time. The first ship was moving towards them at full speed, again assuming that he was trying something clever, some trick to avoid combat.

   None of them could believe what he was doing. Rather than trying to stay away from the most powerful ship in the system, he was diving towards it, racing at full speed into range of the devastating weapons in her arsenal. As he watched Alamo slowly grow in the viewscreen, he couldn't quite believe that she was on the other side, Xandari crewmen at the familiar stations on the bridge, ready to use every means at their disposal to destroy Alamo's exiled crew.