Ark Royal by Christopher Nuttall

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  The Spitfires weren't that outdated – the mechanics had been able to refit them with modern sensors – but they had their limitations.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