Guerrilla

by James Evans

  “Very well, Marine X,” said Warden, “but just walk us through it, first, will you?”

  “Of course, Sir,” said Ten, laying his hand on the tech’s shoulder, “just zoom in there on that bit, the square building. That’s an armoury, sunk about a metre into the rock. Nice little job, very tidy. They even put a good, solid roof on it so that you can’t drop any nasty surprises in from above. As you can see, it's a beautiful location, with pleasant views across the landing zone and handily located near the front gate. A mid-sized property that clearly owes its design to the Brutalist movement of the 20th century.”

  Warden cleared his throat.

  “Right, yes, sorry,” said Ten, “turns out they store plastic explosive in big boxes, just like the ones we use. All you need is a handful of detonators and a remote control,” he said, pressing the button on the trigger, “and it’s bonfire night all over again.”

  “Are you sure, Marine X?” said Warden as the video feed repeatedly showed nothing of interest.

  “Little warm-up first, Sir,” said Ten, “about now...”

  Part of the southern wall of the armoury blew out, scattering foamcrete across the base.

  “Now we build a little,” muttered Ten, waving his hands like a conductor as more explosions tore at the wall of the armoury, “leaving the rear and side walls intact so that the finale is extra special.”

  More explosions rocked the building, and then there was a colossal blast that shattered much of the roof and blew out the southern wall completely. For a moment the feed was disrupted as the drone rode the blast wave, camera pointing erratically at the sky. Then everything settled and the drone returned to station.

  “Bloody hell,” muttered Warden quietly, unconsciously leaning forward to get a better view.

  The southern wall of the armoury had gone, blown to smithereens, and the roof had collapsed. The other three walls mostly intact but the area south of the armoury and two of the dropships had been less fortunate.

  “It’s all about shaping the blast,” said Ten, enjoying his moment in the spotlight, “you just have to direct it to where it’ll do the most good. A bit of plastic on the south wall to weaken it, then when the main charge goes off, attached to some other munitions for added 'oomph' of course, the blast heads south through the damaged wall, et voila! Maximum damage, minimum effort. A whole urban zone, ready for gentrification and completely cleared of infestation by unwanted parasites.”

  The command centre was quiet as everyone inspected the feed. A triangle of buildings extending from the armoury out across the base and past the dropships had been flattened. Most of the hastily erected buildings weren't all that resilient, with a few notable exceptions such as the wall and the armouries. One of the dropships had been flipped end over and was now resting, upside down in a large pile of rubble, all that remained of a cluster of buildings.

  A second dropship and been punched to one side and split almost in half by the blast. Useful for spare parts, maybe, but its flying days were over.

  “Thank you, Marine X,” said Warden weakly, still trying to understand the sheer quantity of damage done to the base, “I think that’ll be all for now.”

  “Of course, Sir, and thanks; I think this means I’ve won my bet with Sergeant Milton. She’ll be chuffed.” Ten saluted and left, sauntering out of the command room like he owned the place.

  Nobody said anything for a few moments.

  “Well,” said Atticus brightly, “I would say that the enemy’s operational capabilities with respect to this base had been severely, if not fatally, impaired.” There was a murmured chorus of agreement. “The next step is to deny the enemy the ability to land fresh troops or to establish a new base. Or repair this one,” said the Captain, “although I think that’s likely to be tricky.”

  “And how do we do that, Captain?” asked Governor Denmead, although she already had a pretty good idea of the answer.

  “Vice Admiral Staines is only a few hours away. By this evening, we’ll have as much strength as we’re ever likely to get. The time for half-measures is over.”

  “Half-measures?” muttered Johnson, slightly surprised.

  “Our next move is a direct assault on the three ships of the Deathless fleet,” continued Atticus, ignoring Johnson completely, “Vice Admiral Staines doesn't have the ships to guarantee victory in a fair fight so we won’t be offering one. Instead, the Marines of A and B Troops will take the dropships and rendezvous with Staines aboard HMS Iron Duke. We'll bolster their numbers with volunteers from the Militia. The ideal outcome is the capture of all three ships, rather than their outright destruction, but they'll be scuttled if necessary.”

  Governor Denmead frowned and looked distinctly disturbed.

  “You want to include the Militia in this? Isn’t that a bit, well, risky? They don't have any training or experience in boarding ships. They're not well-trained professionals.”

  “True, but neither, it seems, are the Deathless,” said Atticus, “so extra bodies might make a significant difference. We’ll be using boarding pods, the Marines will lead, and we’ll only take volunteers; this isn’t an operation for the unwilling.”

  “It still sounds very risky,” said Denmead doubtfully.

  “And it is, Governor, it is,” said Captain Atticus, “but I really don’t think we have any alternatives.”

  23

  The trip into orbit to dock with HMS Iron Duke was gruelling, to say the least. Goodwin punched the dropship through the atmosphere at the upper limit of the Marines’ tolerance to acceleration. Several, all wearing the standard issue clones, blacked out and didn’t come round until they were in free-fall.

  The G-force was brutal because it was, in Goodwin’s words, “Better to burn out, than be blown to smithereens by a Deathless warship as we leave the atmosphere.” Warden didn’t think that had quite the rhythm she was going for but he couldn’t fault her logic.

  Vice Admiral Staines was similarly cautious. After deploying scores of drones to monitor the enemy, Staines’ fleet, if you could call it that, had stayed firmly on the opposite side of the planet, well away from the Deathless ships. The enemy had made no move to engage, yet, but best practice called for launches to be done in the fastest manner possible to minimise the chances of a vital ship being destroyed by the enemy.

  And it was the ships that were important in this situation. Losing the Marines would be inconvenient but they could be replaced in Iron Duke’s clone bays. Dropships, command shuttles and cargo landers were much harder to build and took a lot longer to make than a new clone; losing a ship might be disastrous.

  Warden and A Troop had no choice but to endure a punishing ascent into the heavens. At least the Troop was back to a full complement of Marines, and with some upgrades to boot. Corporal Green, Lance Corporal Long and Marines McGee, Headley and Scott had all been redeployed in newly captured Ogre clones and had been issued the hideously bright, yellow power armour to go with them. Each carried a huge combat shotgun, courtesy of the raid on the Deathless mothership base.

  The approach to Vice Admiral Staine’s flagship had got a lot more comfortable once the dropships had reached orbit. In the deathly quiet of space, the dropships manoeuvred gently, closing slowly on the frigate. Then a series of interlocking doors opened to allow them access. Arms reached out from the deck to grab the dropships and pull them down, then the outer door closed and the bay repressurised, gouts of atmosphere filling the space.

  Finally, the inner doors opened, and the deck slid into the operations bay beyond the airlock, which closed behind them. The elaborate procedure allowed the operations bay to function while the airlocks were cycling ships into, or out of, the frigate. The pressurised atmosphere allowed the engineering crews to move around the bay without wearing suits.

  Fighter tubes worked the same way; each flyer sat on an electric sled during maintenance and rearming. The pilot would climb into the cockpit, the fighter would be driven into a launch tube then the airlock shut beh
ind them and a low-energy railgun mechanism would accelerate them away from the parent ship.

  The moment the dropship stopped moving, Warden unbuckled his harness and stood up, rolling his neck. He felt like he’d been hit by a stampede but this was no time for luxuries like a quiet moment to himself.

  “Let’s go,” he said, clapping his hands, “I want everyone ready for action inside an hour, so make sure your gear is in order and resupply from Iron Duke’s quartermaster if you need to. Milton, you’re with me, we’re wanted in Vice Admiral Staines’ war room.”

  24

  “You’ve all seen the plan,” said Staines, “so what’s the consensus, ladies and gentlemen? Can it be done?”

  “I can’t comment on the orbital mechanics, Sir, but the boarding action looks solid, so yes, I think we can make it work,” said Warden.

  Vice Admiral Staines looked at Lieutenant Hayes, who nodded, “I agree with Warden, Sir. We can get it done.”

  “Midshipman Carruthers?” he asked the junior officer who would be running the boarding team from HMS Iron Duke.

  “We’re ready to go, Sir. The schedule leaves no room for error, and it’ll be uncomfortable for the crew but, mechanically, it’s doable.”

  “And you, Sergeant Adams? Are your team ready?”

  Adams held his hand up, “I’m not really a sergeant. I look after water filtration for the hydroponic systems; I’m not qualified for this. We’ve brought the best of our people, and we’ve all fought against the Deathless, but we’re not soldiers. We’ll go wherever you need us, but I’m not going to pretend I can contribute to this discussion.”

  “I’ve seen the reports from Lieutenant Hayes,” said Staines, “and I think you’ve earned the rank. You’ve seen more real combat than many of the people under my command. You may not have the training, but you’re battle-tested in a way that can’t be accomplished in any simulation, and you’ve earned my respect. I’m sure you have the respect of everyone here.”

  Blushing profusely, Adams coughed, “Thank you, Vice Admiral Staines, you can rely on us, we won’t let you down.”

  “Very good. Then I suggest you all get back to your teams and get kitted out. There’s no time to train your people on power armour, Sergeant Adams, but we do have plenty of standard body armour you can use. As your role is to defend the breaches, it won’t matter if your mobility is a little restricted.”

  “Thank you, Sir. I’m sure we’ll cope. We haven’t had much body armour in Ashton, so that sounds bloody luxurious.”

  “Warden, Hayes, we do have power armour for your teams. We’re primarily charged with exploration and survey duties, but the Quartermaster keeps our supplies of armaments and armour at combat readiness. As such, we have plenty of spares in the event we need to deploy Marines. Unfortunately, the Nelson class doesn’t have the fastest cloning pods, so there isn’t time to deploy more of your colleagues for this action.”

  “Quite alright, Sir. We’re getting used to making do. Having power armour is a massive step up from our previous position.”

  “Good,” said Staines, checking the time, “then let’s get to work. I want you ready for boarding pod launch in no more than forty-five minutes. Dismissed.”

  25

  “The basic problem,” said Vice Admiral Staines as he sat in his command chair, “is that we’re so damned short of resources.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as he stared at a tactical plan of the planet and the enemy fleet.

  HMS Iron Duke had a small contingent of combat drones, twelve all told in various configurations. Albion carried another six, making eighteen in total, all basically missile delivery platforms or anti-fighter craft fitted with short-range cannon. None of them was suitable for the type of ship-to-ship combat that Staines’ plan anticipated.

  “But we’re not here to destroy the enemy,” Staines said to the bridge in general, elaborating on his plan, “we just want to take their ships and kill their crews, so it’s less about what we’ve got and more about how we use it.”

  He pulled up a live feed from the micro-drones that were shadowing the enemy fleet. They had named the three enemy vessels Moscow, Omsk and Bratsk. Staines had never heard of Bratsk but he had asked the bridge crew for names and those were the ones they had picked. Midshipmen Washman and Barnaby seemed to find the name Bratsk amusing, for some obscure reason, but if it improved morale then it was fine with him.

  Staines stared at the feed. They were outnumbered and outgunned but Warden’s assessment of the Deathless ground troops was not complimentary; if the crews of their warships were similarly inexperienced, there was a chance this plan could work.

  “This plan is risky and relies on our enemy’s relative inexperience in space combat,” continued Staines, “but we know very little about them and they might spot our trap.”

  It had been several years since Vice Admiral Staines had commanded ships in combat and that had been against a handful of small pirate vessels. Today’s situation was far more serious with a lot more at stake.

  “We’re ready, Admiral,” came a message from Warden.

  “Understood. Happy hunting, Lieutenant.” Staines signalled Midshipman Washman. “Let’s get started. Get us in position, prepare to launch the pods in sixty seconds.”

  “Aye, Sir,” said Washman, sounding the manoeuvre klaxon and triggering the timer on the first engine burn, “three-second low-power burn, firing in fifteen seconds.”

  They watched the timer countdown to zero and then felt the acceleration as the ship adjusted its position relative to the planet.

  “Burn successful, ready to launch pods,” announced Washman. Staines looked at his monitors, checking that all was in order, then he nodded to his executive officer, Lieutenant-Commander Cohen.

  “Launch pods,” said Cohen, “standby for the second manoeuvre, ten-second mid-power burn followed by thirty-second high-power. Mark!”

  Washman hit the control and the burn began again, much stronger and longer this time. After ten seconds there was a brief pause as the attitude thrusters reoriented the ship then the main engines fired. This time they all felt the pain, pushed into their seats by the acceleration.

  “Burn successful, new orbit and direction achieved. We’re at ninety-eight percent of the target velocity, two-second correction on low-power in fifteen seconds,” announced Cohen. There was a pause and then another brief burst of acceleration. “Orbit achieved, engines at standby.”

  “Good, thank you, gentlemen,” said Staines, “let’s put the forward view on the main monitors and see what might lie ahead.”

  The monitor switched to show a tactical view of the space ahead of the Iron Duke. The boarding pods and the garbage pods that Staines had ordered to be jettisoned at the same time were picked out in bright blue, their trajectories shown in dotted blue lines. The current orbits of the three enemy vessels were shown in red with Iron Duke’s in green, a great looping swirl far outside the orbits of the other ships.

  “That looks good,” said Staines. Littering the orbit of inhabited planets with material that would normally be recycled was very bad practice but, from a distance, the garbage and boarding pods looked similar enough that an incautious enemy might ignore them completely.

  Relying on your opponent’s incompetence was a gamble, a big one. But it wasn’t Staines’ only move and now it was time for the next one.

  “Ready weapons, Mr Cohen, everything we have. Target the lead ship,” said Staines, “prepare to fire on my command.”

  This was the part of the plan about which Warden had expressed concern, since it presented a high risk to Iron Duke and her crew. Staines had pointed out that the men and women under his command were honour-bound to face danger in the performance of their duties and that, in this case, the Marines’ safety was vital to the plan’s success.

  Warden wasn’t at all happy and he had frowned deeply as Staines had outlined the plan. Warden had objected but didn’t have a better suggestion and as Staines was the Vi
ce Admiral around here, he had concluded that it was his call and had politely, but firmly, made sure the junior officers understood that.

  “The boarding action is our best bet,” Staines had said, “so our concern is to maximise the likelihood of success.” They had all agreed that the enemy would find a troop of irate Marines far more difficult to handle than any torpedo or railgun attack.

  “Sir? Even when they come around the planet they’ll be too far away for our weapons to be effective. An attack would leave us horribly exposed,” hissed Cohen.

  “Yes, XO, but that's the idea. We’ll fire early, expose ourselves, and make them focus on Iron Duke.” He realised that he should probably have included the XO in the briefing and made a mental note not to exclude him again, however green he was. “If we were looking to defeat them with conventional torpedoes and railgun ablation, we would lurk out of sight and hope they didn’t spot us. As it is, we don't want to destroy their ships.”

  “I'm sorry, Sir, I don't understand.”

  Staines hid his frustration. The XO was young and hadn't seen combat yet. This was his first command position and he wasn't seeing the bigger picture.

  “The Marines will capture the enemy ships, Cohen, we’re just here to distract the enemy.”

  Cohen nodded, and it looked like he now understood.

  Staines had discussed the options with Bonneville. They had done all the could to protect the colony but after Captain Atticus and General Bonneville had explained their concerns about the potential population and economy of the Deathless, they had agreed that their priority was to gain intelligence; they needed to know more about the Deathless.

  “And if you can capture a ship while you’re at it, Will,” Bonneville had said, “that would make life rather easier.”

  “We’ll see what we can do,” Staines had said, a little testily, but the General had been right. If they captured even one ship, especially a warship, it would be a significant coup. They could grow clones to crew it and have Naval personnel deployed in little more than a week - far faster than conventional reinforcements might reach them.