The Captain shook his head.  “We can't spare anything, not now,” he said.  He grinned, suddenly.  “And you can brief the reporters yourself.”

James sighed.  “Yes, sir,” he said.  “But they will want an interview with you too.”

“I’m going to be very busy,” the Captain said.  He smirked, although there was no malice in his expression.  “You’ll have to handle them.”

“Yes, sir,” James said, again.

He closed the channel, then procrastinated by checking the damage reports from the ships the aliens had targeted.  They’d definitely learnt from experience, he told himself; they’d targeted weapons, rather than the armoured hulls.  But it was an effective tactic, he had to admit, and one that could be repeated time and time again.  There might be a second attack in the next system, which would have the additional disadvantage of convincing the aliens that New Russia was the target ...

As if they were in any doubt, he thought, sourly.

***

Kurt ordered his squadron to wait in the ready room until he was reasonably confident that the aliens weren't about to put in another attack immediately, then reminded the pilots to make sure they staggered their showers and meals.  If the aliens did return, they'd need to drop everything and return to the fray.  Starfighter pilots were used to snatching sleep where they could – constant exercises saw to that - but this was different.  This time, they might be snapped awake and flung out into space to do battle with the aliens once again.

Shaking his head, he reached for a terminal and began to type out a message for his family.  If the damaged frigates were sent back to Earth, they could carry the messages ... although he knew the censors would see them before they were uploaded into the planetary datanet.  He was midway through writing the message when another message popped up in his inbox.  It was from one of the reporters, asking for an interview.  Judging by the curses he could hear around the ready room, he wasn't the only one to get such a message.

“Tell them you’re still on duty,” he advised.  Honestly, the constant demands for interviews were getting beyond a joke.  “And then remember that you are on duty.”

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

“Captain,” Farley said.  “The two frigates have crossed the tramline and vanished.”

“Good,” Ted said.  The frigates, assuming they made it, carried both letters from his crewmen and his theory that Vera Cruz was near an alien homeworld.  Whatever happened, the Admiralty would have a chance to consider the possibilities.  “Resume course.”

“Aye, sir,” Lightbridge said.  A dull quiver ran through the ship as the carrier resumed her slow plod towards New Russia, accompanied by the remainder of the flotilla.  “Course underway.”

“Launch a second shell of recon drones,” Ted added.  “I want to know about the faintest hint of an alien presence.”