Christopher Nuttall - Ark Royal

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.”

“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 The joke had been outdated when the military had started experimenting with jet fighters, let alone starfighters in interplanetary space.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.”