“That wasn't a human shuttle,” she gasped.
“Save your breath,” Stott advised. He didn't even have the decency to seem winded, even though it felt as though they’d walked for miles. Hacking their way through the jungle was a slow process. “You’re going to need it.”
George nodded, keeping her mouth firmly shut. She'd have to go back to Hanover Towers, if she ever made it back to Earth, and apologise to her Sports Mistress. George and her peers had detested the woman - she’d always been happy to add extra laps or punish students she’d thought weren't pulling their weight - but without her steady pressure she knew she would have collapsed long ago. Even the Academy hadn't pushed her so hard. But compared to what the marines did, during their basic training, it had been nothing.
They’re landing in force, she thought, as more shuttles echoed through the air. The falling debris was slowly tapering off, as if orbital space was now clear. Unity just hadn't had the network of satellites and defensive platforms orbiting Earth. And they’re heading right towards Unity City.
Byron called a break, what felt like hours after they began the march. George sagged to her knees, taking the canteen of water Kelly passed her and drinking greedily. It hit her, a moment too late, that they might be on strict water rations ... but none of the marines seemed to care. Their survival kits would include something to purify the water, she thought. The kits in the shuttles - the ones she’d had to check and recheck over the last month - certainly did. She just hoped there was nothing dangerous in the local water. Drinking brackish water, she recalled from half-remembered survival training, could be lethal.
“They landed over thirty shuttles, sir,” a marine she didn't recognise said. “If they're the same size as ours, they landed over five hundred troops.”
“It will be more,” Stott predicted. “There’s no way we would have seen them all.”
“Five hundred troops,” Kelly mused. “Hardly enough to secure an entire planet.”
“They could have cleared the way using KEWs,” the first marine pointed out.
“We haven’t heard any,” George managed.
“That means nothing,” Byron said. He didn't seem annoyed at her question. “Sound does funny things, sometimes.”
He pulled a map out of his knapsack and studied it thoughtfully. George wondered, absently, if he had a way to establish their location. It was possible to get a rough idea of one’s position by watching the stars, but the stars over Unity were different - very different - to the ones over Earth. And the GPS system was down, of course. The aliens would hardly have left that alone when they’d blown everything else out of orbit.
“We keep making our way northwards, we’ll eventually cross the Tangerine River,” he mused. George wondered how he knew they were heading north, then saw the compass in his hand. “When we reach the river, we head down towards Unity City. Unless I completely misread the map, there should be a number of small settlements between the crossing point and the city.”
Stott elbowed George. “There's nothing more dangerous than an officer with a map,” he whispered. “We’ll be going in circles if we’re not careful.”
“I haven’t been promoted to lieutenant yet,” Byron said, curtly. “And you can take point when we resume our march.”
“Yes, sir,” Stott said. He didn't seem particularly abashed. “How long should it take us to reach the river?”
“As the crow flies, less than a day,” Byron said. “In practice ... it could be a bit longer.”
He glanced upwards, sharply, as another shuttle flew overhead. It wasn't heading for Unity City, George realised slowly; it was heading back the way they'd come. Byron bit down a curse and motioned for the marines to rise to their feet. George groaned, feeling her body aching as Kelly helped her up. She was going to be aching badly in the morning, if she actually managed to get any sleep. Her body felt as if she’d been going toe-to-toe with Fraser for hours.
Stott clambered up a tree for several moments, then dropped down neatly, looking grim. “It looks as if they’re circling the crash site,” he said. “If they check the shuttle, they won’t find any bodies.”
“They will find the booby traps,” Byron said. “But they’ll know we’re on the loose.”
George swallowed, hard, as the marines began to move out. Crash-landing was bad enough, but having to march through the jungle - and being hunted by the aliens - was far worse. She didn't even know if she had the endurance to survive the next few days, let alone keep up with the marines. Byron wouldn't abandon her, she was sure, but she’d just slow them down.
She glanced at Kelly, wishing she knew him better. “If they chase us,” she said, “what do we do?”
“We’ll have to try to break contact,” Kelly said. “It depends on just what they do.”
“Keep walking,” Byron ordered. “If we’re lucky, they won’t be able to pick up ...”
An explosion blasted up in the distance, cutting off his words. It took George a moment to realise that the shuttle had just exploded, after one of the booby traps had been triggered. The marines had rigged the shuttle to blow, hoping to kill as many of the aliens as possible ... she shuddered, bitterly. She’d dealt out death when she'd been in control of Vanguard’s main guns, but this was different. This was up close and personal.
“Now they’re mad,” Stott commented.
“Shut up and keep walking,” Byron ordered, sharply. George could hear a hint of tension in his voice. The marines were trained to evade enemy hunters, but the enemy already had a rough idea where they were - and George would slow them down. “Jack, take the rear. If they’re coming after us, we'll have to fight.”
George scowled as she checked the pistol at her belt. Fraser had hammered shooting skills into her head, but she knew she was no expert. And the thought of shooting a person - even an alien - felt wrong ...
Get used to it, she told herself. She could hear more shuttles in the distance. You might have to fight soon.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Enemy ships are altering position,” Granger reported. “I think they're attempting to bring their main weapons to bear on New York.”
“Discourage them,” Susan ordered. Four battleships against one was a losing prospect in anyone’s book. Did the aliens know that New York was the flagship? Or had they merely gotten lucky? “Launch a salvo of missiles, blunderbuss pattern.”
The aliens snapped back with remarkable speed. She watched, grimly, as all nine of the missiles were picked off before they had a chance to detonate. A couple of tacticians had proposed ways to detonate the missiles inside the battleship, but Finch had flatly refused to even consider the possibility. It was bad enough, he'd argued, to detonate the warheads so close to the hull. Crippling their own ship would be a complete disaster, even if they’d had an overwhelming advantage over the aliens.
And we don’t, Susan thought.
The range was growing open, despite the aliens fighting desperately to pick up speed. She had the feeling that their higher command was uncertain, torn between chasing down the task force and returning to Unity. There was an indecisiveness about their tactics that reminded her of some of the more complex multinational exercises she’d seen, when American and Chinese commanders had been unwilling to either commit themselves or back off. And there were two alien races facing humanity.
They might have different ideas about how to proceed, she thought. If we could figure out how to talk to them, we might be able to drive a wedge between them.
“Captain,” Parkinson said. “We picked up a recorded transmission from Unity City, forwarded to us by one of the stealthed recon platforms. The enemy is landing in force.”
Susan nodded, unsurprised. “And the groundpounders?”
“Withdrawing as planned,” Parkinson said. “There’s no update on any of our missing personnel.”
“Understood,” Susan said. Midshipman Fitzwilliam wasn't the only missing person, but she had a solid idea of where the oth
ers had been when the battle had begun. The shuttle pilots on the ground would have to abandon the spaceport - and their shuttles - and attach themselves to the groundpounders until the high orbitals could be liberated. “Forward the message to the flag, then wait.”
“Aye, Captain,” Parkinson said.
Susan quietly evaluated the situation. The task force was picking up speed, but the aliens were still snapping at their heels. She couldn't help wondering if they were being herded into a trap, even though she knew that a plan that depended on the opposing force make a specific move was doomed to failure. Admiral Harper had picked their exit vector largely at random. Even if the aliens did have an FTL communications system - and hundreds of physicists were still in deep denial - they’d have to be incredibly lucky to get a blocking force in place before it was too late.
Unless they’re lurking on the other side of the tramline, she told herself. But if they had to guess which way we’d go, they’d say we’d go to Tramline Three.
She scowled. Second-guessing was all too easy, even though she knew better than to wool-gather in the middle of a battle. Logically, Tramline Three offered a chance to slip back towards human space or cut across to link up with the Tadpoles. It was the best option, if the fleet intended to avoid battle. But Admiral Harper had determined that they would head to Tramline Two, deliberately seeking a chance to inflict damage on the enemy.
And we’re not even on a vector for Tramline Two yet, she thought. The Admiral wants to break contact before we cloak and alter course.
“Signal from the flag,” Parkinson ordered. “All ships are to prepare for Breakaway-Five.”
Susan sucked in her breath. The enemy was snapping at their heels too closely for any of the Breakaway plans, although she couldn't see any alternative. There was no point in deploying drones when it would be immediately obvious which of the sensor contacts were fake - the drones, whatever else could be said about them, didn't carry any weapons. And the real ships couldn't stop firing without giving the enemy a free shot at their hulls.
“It's too close,” she snapped. “Communications, raise Admiral Harper.”
“Aye, Captain,” Parkinson said.
***
“They just opened fire,” Doctor Song said. She sounded stunned. “They just opened fire.”
“There is a war on,” Henry said. Whatever the aliens had been thinking, back at the Battle of UXS-469, there was definitely a war on now. There was nothing to gain and a great deal to lose by revealing their presence without opening fire. “And why should they give up the advantage of surprise?”
“We should be trying to communicate with them,” Doctor Song said. “Can't you send them the First Contact Package?”
Henry shook his head. “There’s a battle underway, Doctor,” he said. “Susan - Captain Onarina - would not authorise the message, even if there was a hope in hell of the aliens actually listening and responding.”
“Then send the message yourself,” Doctor Song insisted.
“It wouldn’t work,” Henry said. Captain Onarina would be furious if he hijacked her communications system, even if it were possible. He liked to think - he wanted to believe - that the aliens could be made to see reason, but he had the nasty feeling that the only way to get them to listen was to give them a bloody nose. “All we can do is wait and watch.”
He saw the terror in her eyes and felt a glimmer of sympathy. He’d faced the prospect of a sudden violent death during the last war, but Doctor Song had never been on a warship until he'd invited her to accompany him. There was literally nothing she could do to affect the situation in any way, not when there was no time to deploy the communications package she’d worked so hard to build. All she could do was watch, wait and pray that Vanguard wasn't blown out of space.
“Thanks,” she said, sourly.
“You’ll be able to claim hazard pay, when you get home,” Henry offered. “And you’ll have one hell of a story to tell.”
“It isn't worth it,” Doctor Song said. Another low rumble ran through the ship. “Is it?”
“It depends,” Henry said. “But if it wasn't you, it would be someone else.”
***
“There’s no way we can break contact, not now,” Susan said. Admiral Harper’s holographic face hung in front of her. “They’re just too close to us.”
“We can hide the carriers,” Admiral Harper said. “It’s the battleships that are the real problem.”
Susan nodded in grim agreement. The last time a combined fleet had found itself in such a mess, a pair of Tadpole warships had sacrificed themselves to save the rest of the fleet. But now ... even if she reduced speed and challenged the enemy ships directly, she wouldn’t be able to win time for the remainder of the task force. They were caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.
With the certain knowledge that the enemy will be able to call for reinforcements, she thought, grimly. The long stern chase can have only one ending.
“Order the starfighters to hammer their drive sections,” Susan said. “If we slow their ships, the remainder should pause long enough to break contact.”
“And if we give them something else to think about,” Admiral Harper said. “I’m re-tasking the set-four drones now.”
Susan nodded. She would have sold her soul for an FTL communicator of her own. As it was, it would take nearly five minutes for Admiral Harper’s message to reach its destination, five more minutes for the drones to reply and then ... at least another five minutes before they knew if the plan had worked or not. And if it didn't, they would have to think of something else.
“I’m redeploying the starfighters too,” Admiral Harper added. “If we’re lucky, they can slow the enemy down too.”
His image vanished. Susan sat back in her chair, concentrating on projecting an appearance of calm. The aliens had inflicted a great deal of damage, but none of it was crippling - not yet. Given time, it could be repaired. But if the aliens kept hammering away at her hull, sooner or later they’d do real damage. She'd already had to reorientate the ship to keep them from firing directly into a gash in the hull.
“The starfighters are launching,” Granger reported. “They’re heading straight for the alien ships.”
Susan nodded, curtly. There was nowhere else for them to go. And the aliens, of course, would know it.
“Concentrate on hammering their point defence,” she ordered. “Give the starfighters as much cover as you can.”
“Aye, Captain,” Granger said.
The seconds ticked away, ominously. She allowed herself a moment of relief - and hope - when one of the alien ships rolled out of formation, her drives clearly badly damaged, but the remainder just kept coming. Admiral Harper might reduce speed himself, matching three human battleships against the alien vessels, yet as the seconds ticked away and no order came, she realised the Admiral didn't consider it worth the match. And he might well be right.
“Most of the starfighters survived,” Mason said, quietly. “Hammering their point defence did something.”
Susan nodded.
“New contacts,” Charlotte snapped. “Drone group four has gone active! I say again, drone group four has gone active!”
And let’s hope the enemy believes what they see, Susan thought. So far from the enemy formation, there was little hope of them realising that they were looking at sensor illusions ... unless their sensors were far better than she’d been led to believe. If they fell for the trick, they’d think that two new battleships were heading straight to the planet. And then they will have to choose between continuing to chase us and saving the forces they’ve landed on the surface.
She watched, waiting to see what would happen. If she’d faced a human commander, she would have expected - given his hesitant behaviour - him to break off, once presented with a suitable excuse. Such a mealy-mouthed CO could hardly be expected to gamble everything on the possibility of such a force being nothing more than an illusion. But the aliens were alien. They
might just decide to keep chasing the task force anyway ...
Or they might decide to call our bluff, Susan thought. And if that happens, we may have some problems.
“Captain,” Charlotte said. “The alien ships are altering course.”
Susan nodded in relief. The aliens were turning, slowly setting their course back towards Unity. They had no choice, she knew; if the sensor illusions had been real, they had to be headed off before they could reach the planet. She'd wondered if the American-made drones would present an overwhelming force, but that would have either convinced the aliens to keep going or break off completely. And then they might have started to ask too many questions ...
“Signal from the flag,” Parkinson reported. “We’re to proceed along our present course, but be ready to slip into cloak as soon as possible. Once we’re in cloak, we are to proceed to the RV point and cross Tramline Two.”
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