“I know,” Amelia said. “And they also took out too many point defence installations.”
James nodded, remembering how the aliens had strafed the hull. He’d wondered if the pilots simply didn't believe the reports they must have read about his ship’s armour, but instead it had merely been the first part of their plan. Without the point defence, it had been distressingly easy for the alien missiles to burn through his hull and allow the shuttles to land.
He said nothing as they walked further down the corridor, keeping his thoughts to himself. He’d seen the carrier during the frantic struggle to get her battle-worthy once again, but this was worse. Entire sections had been destroyed, or mangled beyond repair; carbon scoring marred even parts of the interior that had otherwise escaped serious damage. In the long run, he knew, they’d have to replace the entire section. There were limits to just how much work Anderson and his crew could do on the run.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Amelia said, as they entered a large compartment. “It wasn't your fault.”
“I was in command,” James said, as he took in the bodies lying on the deck. “The responsibility is mine.”
The bodies looked odd under the too-bright light. Most of them were alien – any interesting tech had already been removed – but a handful were human. He vaguely recognised a couple of crewmen from an inspection tour, back when he'd assumed command, yet the others were unrecognisable. One crewwoman’s headless body clutched a small doll in her hand. There was no sign of her missing head. God alone knew what had happened to her.
“Crewwoman Pankhurst,” Amelia identified her. “She came from a sect that believed in carrying those dolls, representatives of their lives. I believe she had to secure a special exemption from the Admiralty before she was allowed to serve.”
James sighed. Exemptions were rare ... and almost always caused more trouble than they were worth, as the person who had been granted one had to prove themselves to crewmen suspicious of their right to serve on a Royal Navy starship. There were times when he felt the flowering of strange sects and cults – including a number who had built their own asteroid settlements – was also more trouble than it was worth. But he did have to admit that they provided a place to go for those who felt as if they didn't belong anywhere else.
“Poor girl,” he said. “And how was her service?”
“Very good,” Amelia said. “There were no complaints about her from her superiors. I believe she was in line for a promotion at the end of the voyage.”
“We can make sure she has a posthumous promotion,” James said, firmly. It wouldn't help the poor girl any more, but it would ensure her family – if she had a family – received a larger pension. Besides, the Royal Navy was looking at additional benefits for families who lost members to the war. “Until then ...”
He looked over at one of the alien bodies. As always, they looked disconcertingly humanoid and yet utterly inhuman. He would have preferred something completely inhuman rather than the faint similarities the two races shared. A faint aroma of rotting fish surrounded the corpse. He couldn't help wondering why they’d developed so many different skin colours, particularly when they lived under the waters. Surely, bright skin colour would attract predators ... or were the aliens actually the top of their planet's food chain?
Humanity is at the top of ours and yet there are still creatures out there who try to eat isolated humans, he thought. Or are the aliens just unconcerned about the dangers?
“Doctor,” he said, addressing one of the medics. “Is there any biohazard?”
“I do not believe so,” the medic said. “All of the reports agree that the alien biochemistry is completely different to ours. But it would be well to keep the bodies on ice until we get back to Earth.”
James nodded. The last time the Old Lady had carried alien prisoners, every precaution had been taken to ensure that the aliens had no chance to spread germs, deliberately or otherwise, to the human crew. This time, there had been direct contact between humans and aliens, without any form of protection. His crew had enhanced immune systems – it was one of the perks of serving in the Royal Navy – but were they enough to cope with an alien disease? If, indeed, the aliens had something that could spread to human bodies?
“See to it,” he ordered. “And keep monitoring the crew for any problems.”
“There was no large-scale epidemic on New Russia,” Amelia pointed out, softly. “The aliens had plenty of contact with humans there.”
James nodded, reluctantly. Terra Nova had had an epidemic, when several dozen settlers from one of the smaller nations had arrived without going through basic medical checks. It hadn't been serious, but it had made a great many people very miserable until cures and vaccinations were shipped in from Earth. After that, the various settlements had become a great deal more careful over health checks before permitting immigration.
But Amelia was right. The aliens could have spread all kinds of diseases to New Russia’s population by now, even if they hadn't intended to do it deliberately. It suggested that his crew would be safe. And yet, how could he take it for granted?
“Move the other bodies to the freezer,” he ordered, shortly. “We’ll hold a proper ceremony for them when we’re finally on the way home.”
And we identify all of the remaining bodies, he added, silently. Some of his crewmen were completely gone, something he suspected would raise all sorts of conspiracy theories. Had the aliens kidnapped them or had the bodies simply been vaporised? People would be arguing the question for years to come.
“Yes, sir,” the medic said.
They turned and walked out of the hatch, encountering Anderson and a team of engineers. The Chief Engineer finished issuing orders, then nodded to his Captain as his team headed down the damaged corridor towards the gash in the hull.
“Captain,” he said. “We were really quite lucky.”
James nodded. One of the missiles the point defence teams had swatted out of existence had been heading directly for the drive section. If it had detonated, the Old Lady would have been stranded, utterly at the mercy of the aliens. Losing one or two fusion cores wouldn't be disastrous – the designers had been firm believers in multiple redundancy – but losing the entire drive section would have crippled the ship beyond repair. If that had happened, they would have had to fight to the bitter end ... or try to surrender. He suspected that fighting would have been the better option.
“I know,” he said. “How quickly can you fix what you can fix?”
“We need to rebuild several parts of the ship’s power grid from scratch,” Anderson said. “Right now, our power grid is badly stressed; if they hit us again like that, we will be forced back on batteries to power large sections of the ship. I think ...”
James sighed, but listened carefully. “Do it,” he said, when Anderson had finished. “We're still deep in enemy territory.”
***
Kurt ached dreadfully when he stumbled out of his starfighter and staggered into the ready room. Behind him, the other pilots looked just as battered, with some of them glancing around for faces they knew they’d never see again. Kurt stripped off his flight suit as soon as he made it into the compartment, then practically dived into the shower and allowed the water to massage some of the kinks out of his body. Behind him, the younger pilots did the same.
He wondered, briefly, just how they were coping with the attack on the Old Lady. They knew – and if they hadn't known before, they sure as hell knew it now – just how vulnerable a single starfighter was to enemy attack. But the Old Lady had seemed damn near invincible, certainly when compared to the modern carriers And yet, she’d been attacked and badly damaged. If the aliens had targeted the launching bays, they would have crippled her ability to continue the fight.
Cursing under his breath, heedless of his dignity, he stumbled out of the shower and grabbed for a towel, rubbing down his body until he was relatively dry. There were spare flight suits in the wardrobe, just waiting for pilo
ts who needed to dress again, after a shower. His old one would need to be cleaned before he could wear it again. Behind him, he caught sight of Rose and shook his head when she met his eyes. He was too tired to do anything apart from sleep.
But it couldn't be allowed.
“Beta and Charlie Squadrons are to use the sleep machines,” he ordered. They weren't intact squadrons, not any longer, but there was no point in breaking them up. He didn't have time to plot out a reconfiguration in any case. “Alpha and Gamma are to remain on alert.”
He ignored the groans from the rooks. They didn't realise that the aliens could return to the offensive at any time, once they realised that the fleet was trying to make its escape. Not that he blamed them, really. The bigger picture was the Admiral’s responsibility. Their task was to fight the aliens and stay alive.
“No arguing, not now,” he snapped, tiredly. He suspected that half of the pilots would fall asleep very quickly, unless they took stimulants. But the stimulants came with a price tag attached. “I know; you all feel rotten and you want to sleep. I don’t blame you. But we need to remain alert for a couple of hours Once Beta and Charlie have had their naps, we’ll get some sleep too.”
He staggered over to a cushy armchair and sat down, trying to look reasonably alert. But he had the feeling it wasn't working. If the aliens attacked, the task force was in serious trouble ...
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Major,” a voice said. “Wake up!”
Charles snapped awake instantly, one hand grabbing for the pistol he'd positioned under his makeshift pillow. It was a precaution that had served him well in the past, although – in theory – the aliens shouldn't have been able to get through the defences surrounding the FOB. But then, they'd said the same about insurgents in the Middle East. He looked around and saw one of the Rhino’s aides standing there, looking worried.
“They picked up an emergency signal from the orbiting recon platforms,” the aide said. “The Rhino demands your immediate presence.”
“Gotcha,” Charles said. He stood, then picked up his rifle and slung it over his shoulder. The Rhino had issued strict orders that everyone was to go armed at all times, no exceptions. It was another sensible precaution, Charles had decided, after months of training together. “I’m on my way.”
The Rhino was standing in front of a bank of consoles in the emergency command vehicle, smoking a cigar that smelt faintly unpleasant. Charles saluted quickly, then swore as he saw the red icons on the display. A handful of large and evidently unfriendly starships were approaching the planet at terrifying speed.
“They came out of Tramline Three,” the Rhino said, without prompting. “We don’t have a solid lock on them at this distance, but at least one of them is either a carrier or a troopship comparable to ours.”
Charles swore. “So they’re going to attack us while the fleet’s away,” he said, sourly. “Is there any word from the Admiral?”
“Nothing,” the Rhino said. “But I wasn't expecting to hear anything for several days.”
Charles felt cold ice clench around his heart. If the aliens had launched a counterattack, they presumably had something in mind to deal with the fleet as well as the forces on the ground, perhaps an ambush in the Target Two system. Or one group of aliens might have launched a counterattack without consulting the others; it wasn't easy to coordinate human attacks across several star systems and everything they’d seen indicated that the aliens had the same problem.
They came out of Tramline Three, he told himself. But the fleet went through Tramline Four.
“So we prepare to repel attack,” he said, grimly. “Or can we evacuate in time?”
“Not without being caught on the hop,” the Rhino said. “Even if we abandoned everything, we’d still have to get the men back to the ships and start running. And then we’d be caught.”
Charles nodded in understanding. The transports, even the colossal American ships, were far slower than any of the alien ships. They’d be overrun and destroyed long before they made it to the tramline. No, better to fight it out on the ground than be picked off helplessly while trying to flee.
“We’ll stay near the alien cities, apart from the stay-behind teams,” the Rhino added. “It might deter them from simply smashing us from orbit, once they get control of the high orbitals.”
“They’ll certainly fire on the plasma canons,” Charles warned. “Their tactics for assaulting a defended planet might just be better than ours.”
“Maybe,” the Rhino said. “But we will see.”
He looked back down at the console, then up at Charles. “We expect to be attacked in just under three hours,” he warned. “And we may be attacked from the water too.”
Charles nodded, slowly. The aliens, having realised they were under observation, had killed all of the dolphins and destroyed most of the remote spying devices. Since then, they’d probably been preparing to take part in a counterattack when their forces started to regain the high orbitals. It was what he would have done, were the situation reversed.
“I’ll deploy my forces,” he said. “And you’d better do the same.”
“Make sure they’re in full stealth mode,” the Rhino added. “You don’t want to risk drawing fire from orbit.”
“Understood,” Charles said.
The next two hours passed in a whirlwind of activity as the ground forces prepared for the coming onslaught. The heavy plasma cannons, prepped for their first combat test, were scattered all over the shoreline, alarmingly close to the water’s edge. Others were positioned some distance inland, providing additional fire to prevent the aliens from settling into orbit and then launching shuttles or missiles towards the human bases. American tanks were carefully positioned to provide fire support for the armoured combat suits, although Charles couldn't help noticing that most of them had been placed on automatic. The tanks simply hadn't coped well with alien weapons.
He found himself looking up into the sky as the sun rose higher, automatically tracking pieces of space debris that were still falling into the planet’s atmosphere. Absently, he hoped the space debris would make it harder for the aliens to land, although he knew that was nothing more than wishful thinking. It hadn't prevented the humans from landing either, had it? But the aliens might have more reason to be concerned about the planet’s biosphere than the human occupiers.
And if they blame us for rendering the planet uninhabitable, he thought coldly, how long will it be before they start doing the same to Earth and the other settled worlds?
He smiled, recalling a family legend. One of his ancestors had worked as part of the clean-up crews in 2060, sweeping dead satellites and space junk out of Earth’s orbit and transferring them to the smelters on the moon, where they had been turned into something more useful. He’d left behind a log that Charles had read, as a child; he’d noted that the space junk had simply been too dangerous to leave in place, even though they were part of history. Now, he couldn't help wondering if the aliens would do the same. They might start building their own orbital towers, sooner or later.
His radio crackled. “Enemy ships are picking up speed,” a voice stated. “They’ll be in orbit in twenty minutes.”
“Understood,” Charles said. The data from New Russia suggested the aliens couldn't track very low powered transmissions, particularly compressed microbursts, but they’d been warned to be careful anyway. Radiating anything that might be picked up from orbit was as good as sending a direct message to the aliens, inviting them to kill the humans on the ground. “We’ll be ready for them.”
He found himself shifting uncomfortably in his suit as he scanned the shoreline. It looked safe and tranquil, almost as exotic as the beaches he’d enjoyed during a short deployment to Kota Kinabalu, years ago. There was a shortage of women, both local and tourist, but apart from that the beach was beautiful. The waves looked surprisingly mild as they washed against the sand, nothing like the waves he’d battled during his training. But the a
liens might be only a few metres away from them, watching from just underneath the water. All the simulations agreed that it might as well be completely transparent to alien eyes.
“I hate hurrying up and waiting,” someone muttered.
“Quiet,” Charles ordered. He privately agreed, but they had to maintain communications discipline. “You’ll wish it was still quiet when the shit hits the fan.”
Alerts flashed up in his HUD as the first alien starships entered orbit, only to come under fire from the plasma cannons on the ground. For a moment, he thought they could win outright, then realised that the plasma cannons weren't doing as much damage as they had hoped. The aliens didn't have much better armour than humanity’s, but what they did have was designed to cope with plasma weapons fire rather than anything else. It suggested, to his eyes, that the aliens might have their own internal wars as well as fights with other races. Maybe there was a second faction of aliens out there, one more friendly to humanity than the others.
Ark Royal 2: The Nelson Touch Page 33
