“Helm, take us out,” Susan ordered. “And be very careful.”
She kept a wary eye on the display as the task force and the drones diverged. The aliens should - should - see the task force circling around, as if it intended to plunge back into Tramline One and return to the previous system. If they were fooled, everything should go according to plan ...
And if they’re not fooled, she thought, they’ll have an excellent chance to catch us with our pants around our ankles.
The seconds ticked away, each second feeling like an hour. It wasn't a good position to hold, not when there was an alien fleet breathing down their necks. Laser communicators or not, the task force was too spread out to coordinate a proper defence if the aliens weren’t fooled. If she had been in command of the alien fleet, Susan knew, she would have lunged forward, soaking up whatever losses she had to take to catch the battleships on the hop. It would have been far from ideal for both sides, but it would have given the aliens a chance to inflict terrible damage at a very minimal cost.
“The aliens appear to be shadowing the drones,” Charlotte reported, finally. “As long as they keep their distance, they shouldn't realise that they are drones.”
“Very good,” Susan said. The longer the deception lasted, the greater the chance that they’d get away with it. “Helm, what’s our ETA at Tramline Two?”
“Five hours,” Reed reported.
We could move faster, Susan thought. But that would be far too revealing.
She forced herself to wait, grimly, as the seconds became minutes and the minutes became hours. The aliens seemed to be fooled, all right; they were shadowing the drones, as if they hadn't noticed any substitution at all. And yet, she had the odd sense that someone was being conned. The aliens might just have put a fleet in TPS-271. But then, that would have required either a vast number of starships - in which case the war was already within shouting distance of being lost - or precognition. And precognition would probably be enough to win the war, too.
Despite herself, the thought made her smile. They’re telepathic and they can see the future?
Mason looked at her. “Captain?”
“Continue on our current course,” Susan ordered. They’d have a chance to slow down and make repairs in TPS-271, unless the aliens had outguessed them. “And keep a sharp eye on the drones.”
The hours passed steadily, with no sign that the aliens had seen through the trick. Susan just hoped that that was accurate, knowing - all too well - that the aliens wouldn’t have any trouble guessing where the fleet was going. If they hadn't known about the alien-grade tramlines before the Battle of UXS-469, they sure as hell did now.
We knew they existed, Susan reminded herself. But we needed help to access them.
“Signal from the flag,” Parkinson said. “We’re to proceed through the tramline as planned.”
Susan bit her lip, tasting blood. Harper was right to want to get through the tramline as quickly as possible - the longer they remained in the system, the greater the chance of something accidentally giving the trick away - but she couldn’t help feeling that the aliens would have a surprise up their sleeves. TPS-271 was an obvious destination, after all. It would give the task force its best chance at making repairs before it had to go back to the war.
But they can't be everywhere, she thought. Everything we’ve seen suggests that they are scrambling desperately to scrape up reinforcements for this sector.
Her own thoughts mocked her. Or is that just what you want to believe?
“Stand by all weapons,” she ordered, as the task force approached the tramline. She’d hoped that Harper would send a smaller ship through first, but the Admiral had decided that the entire fleet should make transit as soon as possible. “And prepare to repel attack.”
She took one last look at the live feed from the drones - now outdated by several hours - and braced herself for the jump. The displays went blank ... just for a second, she thought something had gone horrifically wrong ... and then cleared, displaying a bright G2 star. The system had been earmarked for development, she recalled from the files, but the Tadpoles hadn't gotten around to settling it before the new war began. If it hadn't been so far from Earth, she had a feeling that a few human consortiums would have bid for settlement rights too.
As long as they didn't have to share the outer system, she thought. Unity had been a fine idea, but it was clearly appallingly bad in practice. Our legal system and theirs are just not compatible.
“The system appears to be deserted, Captain,” Charlotte reported. “There’s no sign of any orbital or planetary activity.”
“And all the usual caveats apply,” Mason commented.
“It looks that way,” Susan said. “Contact Mr. Finch. Ask him for an estimate - a honest estimate - of how long we will need to complete repairs.”
“Aye, Captain,” Mason said.
Susan nodded, studying the display as more and more pieces of information flowed into the system. TPS-271 had seven planets: one Earth-compatible, four rocky and two gas giants, as well as a sizable asteroid field. It would definitely make a good home for a colony, if the legal issues and questions of ownership could be sorted out. And there were plenty of groups on Earth who would regard the distance from the homeworld as a blessing, rather than a curse. She was just surprised they hadn't tried to settle Unity.
We needed a fixed government to negotiate with the Tadpole settlers, she reminded herself, dryly. Once the war was over, that was a problem that was going to need to be solved. The groups that wanted their own world didn't want a government imposed on them.
“Captain,” Mason said. “Mr. Finch reports that it will take at least nine hours - he would prefer twelve - to carry out the most important repairs. The remainder can be handled once we’re back underway.”
“Signal the flag,” Susan said. “Inform Admiral Harper of the situation and request permission to hold position long enough to carry out repairs.”
“Aye, Captain,” Parkinson said.
Susan glanced down at her console as more and more reports flooded the system. The engineers were good, but they were prone to overestimate how long it would take to accomplish a particular task. She would have been more impressed if it hadn't made it harder to make plans, although it was better to be safe than sorry. Losing a fusion core midway to Unity would be very embarrassing, even if it wasn't disastrous.
“Signal from the flag,” Parkinson said. “The task force will hold position here for fifteen hours, then head straight for Unity.”
He’s cutting it fine, Susan thought, grimly. If the aliens tumble to our game now, they’ll race to Unity at once. We’ll have barely a couple of hours to smash the first force before all hell breaks loose.
She glanced at the fleet display and swore under her breath. New York had taken a beating too; Indianapolis, thankfully, had only taken minor damage. But with two damaged battleships, Admiral Harper clearly thought it would be better to make repairs before going back to the front. And she had to admit he had a point.
“Hold us here,” she ordered. “Mr. XO, inform Mr. Finch that he has clearance to begin repairs as soon as possible.”
“Aye, Captain,” Mason said.
Susan sat back in her chair and opened the tactical folder, then reviewed all of the details of the last two engagements as her crew went to work. The alien tactics made sense, she thought, but there was something about them that bothered her. They could have pushed their advantage against the task force ... yet that would have meant soaking up more casualties. Were they showing a sensitivity to losses, suggesting that her original theory was correct ... or was she merely engaging in wishful thinking? There was no way to know.
She read through the tactical reports with a growing dissatisfaction. The analysts believed that the arsenal ships couldn't be reloaded at speed, although Susan knew that couldn't be taken for granted. Besides, two-stage missiles were over three times the size of conventional missiles and three-stage mi
ssiles would be even worse. The aliens had expended a vast number of warheads to score a handful of hits on the task force ... she wondered, idly, just what their financial officers made of it. She knew exactly what human politicians would say if the navy requested permission to build so many wasteful missiles.
You plan to fire off five thousand missiles, she imagined the Leader of the Opposition saying, and you only expect to score five hits?
The thought made her smile. Missiles were cheaper these days - mass production brought the price down - but they weren’t that cheap. Everyone knew that battleships and big guns were the wave of the future, conveniently ignoring the days when light carriers and starfighters had been considered the latest innovation in war. If there was one truth about humanity - and about every other known intelligent race - it was that they had no shortage of ingenuity when it came to devising new ways to kill one another. No doubt something would replace Vanguard in time.
Until then, she thought, rising, I have a job to do.
She toured her ship, supervising the repairs, and then caught a long nap before finally returning to the bridge. The crew’s morale seemed to be good, despite the battering Vanguard had taken. They knew they’d taken a pounding - and that some of their comrades hadn't survived - but they also knew they’d given the enemy the slip. Susan just hoped, as she returned to her command chair, that they were right. The drones wouldn't last forever ...
And then they’ll know they’ve wasted their time, she thought. What will they do then?
“Signal from the flag,” Parkinson said. “The task force is ready to move out.”
“Take us into position, then set course,” Susan ordered. “And keep the cloak in place.”
She ran through it in her head, one final time. Seven days transit time between TPS-271 and Unity. And then ...
“Mr. XO, you have the conn,” she said, once Vanguard was underway. “I’ll be in my Ready Room.”
“Aye, Captain,” Mason said.
Susan smiled as she rose and left the bridge. There was no way to avoid the fact that they were going to be outgunned, certainly if the alien reinforcements beat them to Unity, but she’d had an idea. And if they were lucky, it might just be enough to give the aliens a very nasty surprise.
And if we’re right, she thought, we might just win back the entire sector in one fell swoop.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The settlement was a burned-out ruin.
Well, not quite, George acknowledged. Night was falling rapidly, but she could still see more than she wanted to see. A couple of buildings were still standing: a brick house and a large barn that the aliens had apparently decided would make an excellent barracks for their troops. But the remainder of the settlement, a village that wouldn't have been out of place on her family’s estate, had been burned to the ground. A handful of bodies, lying by the side of the road, stood in mute testament to what the aliens had done to the residents who hadn't managed to flee. George had heard, as the small party had made their way towards the village, that the aliens had rounded up all of the settlers and shot them out of hand.
She felt horror - and disgust - welling in her gut as she stared at the bodies. Four of them were clearly men, perhaps the men who’d taken a series of shots at an alien convoy as it tried to make its way along a nearby road. But the other five were women and children, the youngest barely a babe in arms. What had he - or she - done to deserve to die? The body was so badly damaged that it was impossible to tell if it had been male or female. She imagined the aliens laughing as they watched the humans die - as terrorists had done during the war - and felt a cold relentless hatred. Even the Tadpoles, who had bombarded Earth, had never made it so personal.
“Remain calm,” Stott whispered. “There will be a chance to get at them later.”
George nodded, packing her emotions and locking them away inside her mind as she studied the alien positions. They didn't seem to be very alert, she noted; there was a handful of aliens on guard duty, but the remainder were inside the barracks, doing whatever aliens did between looting and burning human settlements. Perhaps they were just catching up on their sleep, she thought, darkly. It was what humans would have done.
“They’re not that alert,” she muttered. “Should we move?”
“Not yet,” Stott said. “Watch them carefully.”
The night grew darker as the alien guards maintained their steady patrol. George peered at them through her NVGs, realising that the boffins who’d dissected the first alien bodies had been right. The aliens could see in the dark like cats, unless they’d had their eyes modified or ocular implants inserted into their sockets. She felt sick at the concept, but she had to admit it might be a useful idea. There was something to be said for not needing a light - or heavy equipment - to move around under cover of darkness.
She looked up, silently counting the stars in the sky. A handful would be alien starships, she knew, although the insurgents didn't have many binoculars capable of picking them out. It wasn't as if anyone had anticipated needing a ground-based observatory on Unity - hell, there wasn't such a thing anywhere on Earth. Why would astronomers bother with a ground-based structure when building a radio telescope on the far side of the moon was a simple matter of logistics?
Or putting one in deep space, well away from Earth, she reminded herself. There’s no interference out there.
The night was silent, save for a handful of nocturnal birds flying around in the shadows as they hunted for prey. George had heard that the aliens had shot a few of them, probably hoping to supplement their rations with a little meat. The resistance had been doing the same, although they’d been moving away from areas where plants and animals from Earth had been taking root. Unity’s far smaller biosphere had fewer edible creatures. She cocked her head to one side, listening carefully, but heard nothing moving through the night. The aliens seemed to be completely off-guard.
But they might be the bait, she told herself, sternly. She hadn't forgotten the alien force that had attacked her first camp - or the reports of several other camps being located and destroyed after the first wave of attacks. They might be trying to lure us into complacency.
Stott touched her upper arm. She jumped.
“The resistance will fire the first shot,” he reminded her. “If they get in and out without trouble, we’ll make our escape shortly afterwards. Do not fire unless fired upon.”
George nodded, curtly. Byron had gone through procedures repeatedly, time and time again, before allowing her to escort Stott. She wasn't blind to the trust he’d placed in her - or the possible consequences if she screwed up. Stott, she suspected, would have preferred to have been escorted by another marine - or a resistance fighter - although he’d said nothing. She doubted his newfound respect for her went that far.
But they need to conserve their marines, she thought, grimly. Sending me out to fight - and die - makes sense.
“I’m ready,” she muttered.
Stott glanced at his watch, then keyed a switch. Moments later, George’s goggles went white - just for a second - as a makeshift rocket flashed out of the surrounding jungle and slammed into the barn, smashing down the door and exploding inside. The structure burst into flames, an almighty fireball that blasted upwards; she saw, very briefly, an alien shape wrapped in fire before it collapsed back into the shadows. A hail of shots followed, dropping the guards before they could react. George watched them fall and felt nothing, but cold vindictive fury.
Let them die, she thought, savagely.
Silence fell, save only for the collapsing barn. The resistance fighters would be already bugging out, if they were still following the plan; they’d be halfway home before the aliens managed to mount a response. If, of course, the aliens did mount a response. They had to know, she assumed, that there would be a chance to catch the resistance on the hop, but they also knew that time wasn't on their side. It was quite possible, as Byron had pointed out repeatedly, that they would merely drop a few K
EWs on the scene and declare it a draw ...
And then she heard the sound of helicopters.
“Here they come,” Stott breathed. “Do nothing.”
George bit down her irritation as the helicopters flashed overhead, their machine guns chattering loudly as they poured a hail of fire into the jungle. Someone must have been watching from high overhead, George noted; they were taking care to strafe the spot where the resistance fighters had been, even though they were long gone. She hoped, grimly, that the aliens didn't decide to start shooting at random - or, for that matter, unleashing salvos of their antipersonnel rockets. But they held their fire.
“Interesting,” Stott mused.
One of the helicopters came to a halt over the village, a handful of alien troopers rappelling down to the ground as the other helicopters swept around the settlement, guns searching constantly for targets. George pressed herself into the ground as one flew right overhead - she fancied that she could feel the beating of its rotor blades as it passed - and then looked up, again, to see the Foxes searching the village. She couldn't help noticing that they seemed surprisingly unconcerned about the bodies, human and alien alike. There was no attempt to pick up and bag the bodies for burial or whatever the aliens did with their remains.
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