Fear God and Dread Naught

by Christopher Nuttall

“Understood,” Susan said. It wasn't wholly accurate - they were well within two-stage missile range - but it would suffice. The enemy either didn't have any more long-range missiles or had chosen not to fire them. “Keep spoofing their sensors as much as possible.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Granger said.

  “Signal to the fleet,” Susan added. “Decoy drones are to be deployed in” - she glanced at the timer - “seven minutes. They are to go active as soon as they are launched.”

  She paused. “And all ships are to immediately commence ECM pulses.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Parkinson said.

  Susan had no trouble hearing the puzzlement in his tone. The aliens had a hard lock on the task force. There was literally no point in deploying decoy drones, not when the aliens would have no trouble sorting the real ships from the decoys. Hell, deploying the drones might give the aliens unwanted insights into how the technology actually worked. She was mildly surprised that Captain Trodden hadn't called her to complain. The drones were American technology and, despite a series of international treaties, their secrets were closely guarded.

  But the aliens will have problems with their sensors, she thought. And that’s the important point.

  “The alien ships are entering missile range,” Granger reported. “They’re opening fire.”

  Susan smiled, rather coldly. The aliens had to know they were wasting missiles, unless they’d come up with a surprise of their own. Humanity had quite a few missile warheads that were designed to make it harder for the enemy to isolate and destroy individual missiles, but none of them worked very well in the field. The boffins made all sorts of promises; very few of them, in her experience, were ever kept.

  “Stand by point defence,” she ordered, smoothly. “And fire as soon as they come into engagement range.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Granger said.

  She paused. “The starfighters are rearming,” she added. “They’re going to be out again in five minutes.”

  “Good,” Susan said.

  She gritted her teeth as the alien missiles entered her point defence envelope. A number were blown out of space, but two survived long enough to detonate and send bomb-pumped laser beams stabbing into her ship. Vanguard lurched as red lights flared up on the status display - she realised, grimly, that they weren't going to have to fake engine trouble after all - and then settled as the damage control teams went to work.

  “They struck one of the gashes in the hull,” Mason reported. “We have serious trouble ...”

  “Prepare to reduce speed on my command,” Susan ordered. She glanced at the status display, hoping - praying - that the battleship would hold together long enough for her to carry out her plan. “Mr. XO, are the missiles programmed?”

  “Yes, Captain,” Mason said. “They’re ready.”

  “Signal to the fleet,” Susan ordered. There was no longer any time to delay. She'd just have to hope that the aliens were determined to kill her ships. “The decoy drones are to go active, then all ships save for Vanguard and Indianapolis are to accelerate. Vanguard and Indianapolis are to reduce speed on my command.”

  Captain Trodden is going to love this, she thought, as the acknowledgements came in from the remainder of the fleet. Indianapolis didn't take anything like so much damage. They might even have been able to evade the enemy if I’d ordered them to leave.

  She pushed the thought aside. There was no longer any time for doubts. Either her plan worked or they all died quickly. She was damned if she was surrendering, even if she was sure she could keep anything classified out of enemy hands. God alone knew what the aliens would do to them, but she doubted it would be pleasant. The task force had probably hurt their pride quite badly ...

  “All ships have acknowledged,” Parkinson said.

  “Missiles ready for ballistic launch,” Mason added.

  “Launch the missiles,” Susan ordered.

  She looked at Parkinson. “Order Indianapolis to reduce speed in seventy seconds.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Parkinson said.

  Susan braced herself. The aliens were activating more and more sensors, despite the hundreds of blisters the starfighters had blown off their hulls, but they didn't seem to be taking the threat entirely seriously. And why not? They knew where the task force’s ships were. The hail of electromagnetic distortion was nowhere near powerful enough to hide the ships, certainly not at such close range ...

  “Helm, reduce speed,” she ordered.

  Vanguard seemed to shiver as she slowed, allowing the aliens to catch up. They weren't entirely faking either, Susan noted; two of her drive rooms had gone offline, with a third hovering on the brink. Indianapolis reduced speed too, swinging her weapons around to flail desperately at the aliens. And the aliens, scenting victory, roared forward. She could just imagine their slavering expressions as they saw their prey, helpless before them.

  They evolved from hunting animals, she thought. They’re predators, just like us.

  “Trigger the missiles,” she ordered.

  The aliens had no time to react before they impaled themselves on the bomb-pumped lasers, the deadly beams stabbing straight into their hulls at point-blank range. One of the battleships rolled over and exploded - she guessed that one of the beams must have struck something vital - while the other staggered to one side, spewing plasma and atmosphere from a dozen wounds. She barely managed to launch a salvo of missiles of her own before her main power failed completely.

  “Order the starfighters to go after the other ships,” Susan ordered, sharply. The alien escorts had been smart enough to stay out of weapons range, although there was no way they could outrun or fend off the starfighters. “Tactical, scan the remaining battleship.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Granger said. “There's no obvious power sources left intact. It’s possible that their hull depressurised completely.”

  Susan exchanged a long glance with Mason. The chance to take an alien ship intact ... it was a dream come true. And yet, she doubted all of the ship’s crew were dead. The Royal Navy’s shipsuits provided some protection against the vacuum of space, if the worst happened and a ship lost atmospheric integrity. None of the survivors would be very happy, but they'd be alive.

  And if there are survivors, and they trigger the self-destruct, she thought, they’d take out a boarding party ... if they wait.

  She keyed her console. “Major Andres, prepare a mission - volunteers only - to take possession of the alien ship,” she ordered. “Ideally, any surviving crewmen are to be captured and transported back here, but bear in mind that one of them might be able to trigger the self-destruct.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Major Andres said. There was a long pause. “My entire unit has volunteered.”

  Or been volunteered, Susan thought. But they know the risks.

  “Deploy as soon as possible,” she ordered. The remaining alien ships had been destroyed, the victorious starfighters returning to their motherships. “I’ll assign Pinafore to remain alongside and provide assistance, if necessary.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Major Andres said.

  Susan closed the channel. It was a hell of a risk, but one she had to take. Only one non-human starship had been captured in all of humanity’s history, yet that starship had provided the clues that had led humanity to victory in the First Interstellar War. Capturing a second ship, even one that had been badly damaged ... it had to be attempted. She closed her eyes for a long moment, saying a silent prayer for Major Andres and his men, then watched as their shuttles were launched, heading straight towards the alien ship.

  Godspeed, she thought.

  “Helm, take us back to the planet,” she ordered. “Communications, attempt to raise the forces on the ground.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Reed said.

  Susan waited, grimly, until a response finally arrived. “Captain, General Kershaw reports that the aliens have surrendered,” Parkinson said. “They just threw down their arms.”

  “Tell him to secure t
he prisoners and await relief,” Susan ordered, after a moment. She doubted she had many groundpounders left - all of the soldiers Vanguard had shipped to Unity had been dropped on the planet - but there were crewmen with weapons training if necessary. “Once we’re in orbit, we’ll provide whatever support he requires.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Parkinson said.

  Mason smiled. “We won,” Captain,” he said.

  “Barely,” Susan said. “New York is gone; Vanguard and Indianapolis are both heavily damaged ... it could have been a great deal better.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Mason said. “But no battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy.”

  “True,” Susan agreed. She raised her voice. “Stand down from condition one, but continue to maintain a full sensor watch. We don’t know how many other alien ships are racing to the system.”

  She leaned back in her command chair as Vanguard picked up speed, inching towards the planet. No, they didn’t know how many more alien ships were on the way - if indeed there were any more alien ships on the way. She’d seen nothing to disprove her first theory, after all. Unity was rather far from the war front. And while the aliens might have been prepared to commit forces to secure a pathway into Tadpole space, were they actually ready to throw good money after bad?

  I guess we’re about to find out, she mused. But until then, we should savour the victory.

  ***

  George sat in the makeshift camp and waited while the aliens argued, barking and hissing at one another like dogs that were on the verge of going for each other’s throat. Even the arrival of a couple of Cows hadn't changed the situation, although it was quite interesting to watch how the two races reacted to one another. The Foxes seemed inclined to fight each other to settle the matter; the Cows seemed inclined to wait and see who came out on top. She wondered if they were deliberately pushing the Foxes into conflict, but there was no way to tell. Their language was completely beyond her understanding.

  She glanced up, sharply, as one of the aliens strode towards her, holding a gun. A human gun, she realised in surprise: a weapon she didn't recognise. She braced herself, half-expecting to be shot, then recoiled in shock as the alien held the weapon out to her. Her mind raced - maybe it was a trap, yet she couldn't think of any reason why they would bother - as she took the weapon and held it. And then the alien - all of the aliens - prostrated themselves in front of her.

  George felt her mouth drop open. “What?”

  “I think they’ve surrendered,” one of the captured fighters said. “The spacers must have won.”

  “So it seems,” George said. She couldn't think of any other explanation. There was no logical reason for the aliens to surrender, unless they already knew they’d lost the battle high overhead. “What do I do now?”

  “Take them back to the garrison,” the fighter suggested. “What else can we do with them?”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “What a fucking mess,” Henry said.

  The shuttle circled Unity City - or what had been Unity City - long enough to let him get a good look. A number of buildings had been smashed flat, while others had been converted into alien barracks or outposts. The streets had been torn up by armoured vehicles, leaving them looking like muddy pathways on the verge of sinking completely. And there were no civilians in sight. The remainder of the population had fled to the countryside.

  “It can't be real,” Doctor Song said. “Why ... why would they do this?”

  Henry shrugged. “They wanted security - and control,” he guessed. Smashing Unity City was largely pointless, from a tactical point of view, but it had made it clear that the Foxes and the Cows were here to stay. “And besides, I assume they wanted the planet too.”

  He turned his gaze away from the porthole as the shuttle dropped towards the spaceport and landed neatly in front of the alien buildings. No aliens were in sight, he noted, as they stepped out of the hatch, merely dozens of soldiers from five different nations. The alien technology was being made ready for transhipment to orbit, but Henry rather doubted the analysts would learn anything new from it. Like humanity, the Foxes seemed to prefer to rely on simple technology as much as possible. If nothing else, it was much easier to repair.

  “Your Highness,” General Kershaw said, as they were shown into the nearest building. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “And you, General,” Henry said. General Kershaw looked tired, but happy. “What have you done with the prisoners?”

  “We captured over four thousand aliens, mostly Foxes,” General Kershaw said. “A number of Cows chose to commit suicide rather than be taken alive, but the remainder surrendered as well. So far, we don’t have any idea why some surrendered and others didn’t - they may just have different ideas on the subject.”

  He shrugged. “For the moment, we have them all under armed guard,” he added. “There were ... incidents ... when the resistance fighters set out to capture surrendering aliens, so I’ve had my people take sole responsibility for guarding the camp.”

  Doctor Song leaned forward. “Incidents?”

  “A number of prisoners were shot out of hand,” General Kershaw said, bluntly. “The resistance fighters have no reason to love them, doctor.”

  “Keep the rest of them safe, for the moment,” Henry said. “And don’t let the resistance get close to them.”

  He rubbed his eyes, tiredly. In hindsight, he should have anticipated the problem. Unity would never be the same again, even if the war ended tomorrow and the planet finally received the investment it deserved. The colonists could hardly be blamed for wanting a little revenge. But it would make it harder to convince the aliens to surrender in the future.

  “We won’t, Your Highness,” General Kershaw assured him. “But I’d suggest taking them off-world as soon as possible.”

  “That might not be easy,” Henry said. The task force had assumed it would be taking custody of a handful of alien prisoners, not thousands. “We might have to move them somewhere else.”

  “Plenty of small islands on the planet,” General Kershaw said.

  He sighed. “I wish you and your team the very best of luck in untangling their language,” he added. “So far, none of them have given us any trouble, but they speak very little English.”

  “It’s a start,” Doctor Song said. “Proper computer assistance and suchlike will help us to decipher their speech.”

  Henry nodded. He had a private suspicion that the aliens who had committed suicide were all senior officers - and that the survivors would know little of tactical value - but interrogating the POWs would still teach Doctor Song and her team a great deal about the aliens. There were dozens of unanswered questions that could be finally answered, once the language barrier was broken. He couldn't wait to see how many of their preliminary conclusions were actually accurate.

  “I’ll escort you to the camps,” General Kershaw said. He held up a hand. “I should warn you that we're operating under strict rules. If they take you hostage - or anything along those lines - we won’t make any concessions.”

  And you’ll shoot through us, if necessary, to stop them, Henry thought. A prisoner riot would be disastrous.

  He shook his head as General Kershaw led him through the complex. Even if they did break out, the aliens had nowhere to go. Unity was very hostile territory for them, particularly after the groundpounders had captured or destroyed their weapons. He doubted a single alien would survive long enough outside the wire to be rescued, if the task force lost control of the high orbitals for a second time.

  “Interesting design,” he mused, as they passed through a pair of heavy doors. “It's clearly designed for more than one race.”

  “Yep,” General Kershaw said. “We think both races would have found this comfortable.”

  Henry nodded as they walked through a final set of doors and out into the open air. He grimaced at the smell - a mixture of piss and shit and alien musk - as he gazed towards the wire. The POW camp was rea
lly nothing more than a large patch of ground, surrounded by two rows of barbed wire and patrolled by armed guards. Inside, hundreds of aliens sat on the muddy ground, looking around listlessly. He couldn’t help thinking that they looked a very sorry lot.

  “Shit,” Doctor Song said, quietly.

  “Quite,” General Kershaw agreed.

  Henry looked at him. “They gave you no trouble?”

  “None,” General Kershaw said. “And they didn't even give each other trouble, either.”

  Henry frowned, wondering what that meant. Well-trained human soldiers could remain calm and disciplined even in captivity, but poorly-trained and led soldiers could turn on their former officers. He’d read case studies from the Age of Unrest where officers had to be separated from their men - if the officers hadn't fled to avoid capture - just to keep them from being lynched. And yet, the aliens didn't seem to have turned on their own leaders ...