A thought struck her. What if ... what if the fleet went to N-Gann?
On the face of it, the idea was insane. The Tokomak base was heavily defended. If she’d had any doubts about that, they’d faded when she’d seen the LinkShip’s reports. And yet, the sheer level of defences around the base was more than enough to convince the enemy CO that she wouldn’t risk attacking N-Gann. It would come right out of left field.
Obviously, she thought. They’d assume that we’d be smashed flat if we did.
And yet ... there was a flaw in the defences. Not a big one, perhaps, but one that could be exploited. Capturing N-Gann - or even devastating the facilities - would put the enemy schedule back years. The Tokomak hadn’t paid anything like as much attention to their fleet train as the Solar Union, but why should they have? They had a massive network of bases they could call on for support. Excitement ran through her as she realised the plan might just work. If nothing else, she’d force the enemy to dance to her tune for a change.
“We need to move,” she said. “And we need to hit the enemy in a place they won’t expect.”
She outlined her plan, careful to keep the details a little vague. Her staff would have to go over the plan - and all the intelligence reports - in cynical detail, just to make sure that they didn't overlook any obvious weaknesses. But ... she thought it would work. If they could take and hold N-Gann, the Tokomak fleet would have to reverse course and recover their base or risk running out of supplies. And even if they merely did immense damage to the base, it might be worthwhile in the long term. A delay worked in humanity’s favour.
“They’d have to expect us to go for the base,” Captain Nolen said. “It’s the highest-priority target in the sector.”
“I thought that was Apsidal,” Captain Leedey jibed. “Admiral ... can we take N-Gann? Or will we just bleed ourselves white against the base’s defences?”
“I think we can take the planet,” Hoshiko said. “At the very least, we can lay siege to it.”
She tapped the table before another argument could break out. “Let us be brutally honest,” she said. “We cannot fight our way back to Apsidal. Raiding the remainder of the sector will be easy pickings, for a time, but there is very little worth the effort of stealing. And our raids will not do humanity’s image any good. The Tokomak will portray us as pirates and they’ll be right.”
“The ignorant sheeple on their worlds already think we’re ravening monsters who somehow pose an immense threat without posing any sort of threat at all,” Captain Nolen pointed out, dryly. “That sort of double-thinking is quite common amongst the Galactics.”
“The spacers have more awareness of reality,” Captain Marin said. “And it is their support we need.”
“Quite,” Hoshiko said. “And, quite apart from all that, we cannot get back to Sol.”
She allowed her voice to harden. “We took a beating,” she said. “Yes, we were outthought and defeated. But that is not an excuse to stop fighting. You know what will happen if - when - the enemy fleet reaches Sol. Our entire system will be destroyed. And while there are a few colony ships heading as far from Sol as they can, there is no guarantee that any of those seeds will grow into a new Solar Union. The Tokomak have got to be stopped.
“We will head for Falladine in two hours. That will allow us to reach Galan - hopefully without being intercepted - and make the crossing to N-Gann. My staff will work out a plan to either take the planet, or lay siege to it. And we will put that plan into action. Unless, of course, any of you have a better idea.”
There was a long moment of silence. Hoshiko almost regretted it. She had no compunctions about using a good idea, even if someone else had thought of it. If she’d missed something, if there had been an easy way out of the trap, she would have recommended whoever thought of it for promotion and medals. But there was nothing. They had one desperate plan - and nothing else.
“Dismissed,” she said, finally. “And, if any of you have time to pray, please ask God for His help.”
She watched the holograms vanish, then looked at Yolanda. “Get Operations to start work on planning,” she said. “If there are any major flaws in the concept, I want to know about them before we reach our destination.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Yolanda said. She looked tired, now the holograms were gone; tired and stressed. “I’ll get right on it.”
Hoshiko eyed her for a long moment. “Get some sleep afterwards,” she ordered, although she doubted it was a kindness. Yolanda’s partner was on Apsidal. He might easily be dead by now. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
She watched Yolanda go, then keyed her console. “Get me Captain Hameeda.”
Hameeda appeared in front of her. Hoshiko’s eyes narrowed, just for a second. Hameeda seemed to have regressed, even though she’d done well - very well - during the savage engagement. A few more LinkShips might have made a real difference. But then, a few hundred more cruisers would have made a difference too.
“Admiral,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re going to N-Gann,” Hoshiko said. She pushed her doubts aside. “And I have a very specific task for you - two tasks, really.”
Hameeda looked brighter. “Are they dangerous?”
“Very,” Hoshiko said. “The first is relatively simple. I want you to survey Mokpo, then move up the chain to Winglet and cross the interstellar void to meet us at Galan. We need to know what the enemy is doing.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Hameeda said. She sounded a little bored. There was little chance of being intercepted in Mokpo as long as she was careful. “And the other?”
Hoshiko allowed her smile to widen. “Now, that is the really interesting task ...”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Your Excellency,” Representative Kumar said. “You are ... rather young.”
“And you lost control of your entire planet,” Neola said, trying to keep the snarl out of her voice. Kumar was clearly too stupid to remember what she’d done to the Gerontocrats, let alone realise that she could do the same to him. “You’d be dead now, if the humans hadn’t kept you alive.”
She turned her attention to the planetary display, ignoring the wretched elder’s babbling. He was old enough to be her great-great-grandfather, yet he had none of the wisdom her honoured elder had displayed. Kumar certainly didn’t have the self-awareness to realise that he really did have the humans to thank for his survival. The mobs roaming the planet’s surface, now the human forces had transferred themselves to the ring, were slaughtering every last Galactic they could find. And there was very little she could do about it.
“Your task is to put your system back into operation as fast as possible,” she said, without looking at him. In the old days, it would have been an unpardonable insult. But, in the old days, seniority alone determined promotion. “Can you handle it?”
“Once those vermin are removed, I can handle it,” Kumar said. “But the council demands that you provide support ...”
Neola turned, slowly. “Demands?”
Kumar seemed to hesitate, just for a moment, as he finally realised what sort of dangerous waters he’d sailed into. But he was too stupid to close his mouth and let the matter go.
“My family - and the other families - own property on the surface that must be recaptured,” Kumar said. “You must devote troops to ...”
Neola snapped her fingers. Two guards hurried over.
“Remove this idiot to the cells,” she ordered, sharply. “He’ll be going back to the retirement camp.”
She ignored Kumar’s protests, then his shouts, as she turned her attention back to the display. The planet itself was worthless, particularly with the population in revolt. She had few qualms about bombarding the world into dust and ash, and then bringing in a replacement population, but she didn’t want to risk damaging the ring. It was the key to the planet’s rebirth. No, the ring had to be retaken piece by piece. And it was a very slow operation.
But it has to be
done, she thought. We have to rebuild the sector’s economy.
She sighed, inwardly. She’d won the greatest battle for a thousand years, but she still had to cope with the aftermath. Her fleet was being repaired and readied for the drive on Earth, if she decided to continue the offensive. She really needed Apsidal up and running, both as an economic hub and a supply base for her fleet. She’d already sent messengers back to N-Gann with orders to forward the supplies to Apsidal. But would the ring be ready to support her fleet?
We’re going to need to build up a whole new fleet train, she reflected. In hindsight, they’d grown too comfortable with their network of naval bases. And then we’re going to have to expand the network towards the rim.
Her lips quirked. She’d won. Her problems were the problems of victory. The enemy commander, on the other hand, had lost. Who knew how she was feeling?
***
The chamber was shrouded in darkness, despite the presence of a single light-globe high overhead. Martin crept forward, moving between the stacked boxes until he could see the small alien team clearly. They seemed to be moving supplies from the spaceport down to the transit tubes, now they’d been opened and pressed into service. The semi-darkness didn't seem to bother them. He suspected that they’d either been enhanced, like the marines, or naturally happened to have better eyesight than humans. There were some races that were practically nocturnal.
And they’re alone, he told himself. The Tokomak had searched the area thoroughly, then redeployed their hunter-killer squads to search the other sectors. Unless they’re bait in a trap.
He tensed, then slowly drew his knife from his belt. It felt right in his hand, although his instructor had told him that bringing a knife to a gunfight was always a mistake. He glanced back to make sure his team were ready, then threw himself forward. The alien he’d targeted barely had a moment to react before Martin wrapped his left arm around him and sliced his throat wide open. There was a gurgling sound as the alien collapsed to its knees. Martin allowed himself a moment of relief - no one had been entirely sure the monofilament blades would cut through the alien armour - then checked the others. All five aliens had been killed before they’d managed to get a shot off.
“Check the doors,” he subvocalised, as he rolled the dead alien over and struggled with its helmet. It was a blank mask, stripped of all individuality; it was nothing like the fearsome helmets he’d worn during his service. He pulled at it for several seconds before finally figuring out how to pull it free. The alien face stared up at him. “Shit.”
The alien was ... very alien. It’s face - he had no idea if he was looking at a male, a female, or a weird and wonderful alien gender - was covered in brown prickles, rather like a small hedgehog. The eyes were dark pools, without any visible iris; he wondered, suddenly, if his sense the aliens might be nocturnal was correct. Human pupils tended to expand to catch the light in darkness.
“A Hatchet,” Sergeant Howe said. “That’s as close as we can get to pronouncing their name, sir. They’re known for being a warrior species.”
Martin shrugged. The Hatchets - or whatever they really called themselves - were good, but not invincible. His marines had cost them dearly already and there would be more to come, as the fighting continued to expand. It was interesting to know just which species they were fighting, but he had no idea if the information had any practical value. Perhaps they could use stun-grenades or flash-bangs to disorientate the enemy. If they were nocturnal, they might be blinded by a sudden flash of light.
“Sir,” Trooper Paris hissed. “I hear trouble.”
“Time to go,” Martin said. The temptation to stay and fight was almost overwhelming, but they were in the middle of enemy territory. Merely getting in had been a difficult task. They might kill the first responders - they would kill the first responders - but they’d be caught and killed by the rest. “Let’s move.”
He kept a wary eye out for danger as they made their way back to the garbage tubes. He’d disliked the idea of crawling through waste, back during basic training, but now he’d come to terms with the idea. It wasn’t as if he’d expected to be clean and tidy when he’d joined the marines. If he’d wanted comfortable beds and easy duties, he would have joined the Solar Navy. Or the Solar Guard. Besides, the Tokomak might not realise just how easy the waste pipes were to navigate. They were taller than the average human. They might see the waste pipes as being too small to use effectively.
Though they do have smaller species under their command, he thought, as he clambered through the hatch, slamming it shut behind him. His mask, thankfully, kept him from the worst of the smell. They should at least consider the possibility.
He dismissed the thought as they made their way through the pipe. The entire system had been shut down for the last week, leaving most of the waste trapped in the pipes. He didn’t envy the poor slobs who’d have to clean up the mess, once the occupation force got around to restarting the system. They’d have a nightmare on their hands. He wondered, grimly, if the Tokomak were hoping to force the insurgents to surrender by systematically weakening the life support systems. The ring was huge, far larger than a conventional asteroid habitat, but there were limits. Its environment was very far from natural. It wouldn't take too much to push it over the edge.
“That girl isn’t going to look twice at me,” Trooper Rowe complained. “I stink.”
“So, no change there,” Trooper Paris said. “Perhaps you should date Alice instead. I happen to know she has no nose.”
Rowe snorted. “And how does she smell?”
“Terrible,” three voices said, at once.
“It’s nothing a good shower won’t cure,” Martin said, tetchily. His girlfriend was somewhere on the other side of the gravity point, he hoped. “Or you can take a wash in the pond up ahead.”
Rowe shot him a mock-betrayed look. “Very funny, sir,” he said. “It’s true, then. Senior officers get their sense of humour surgically removed when they get promoted.”
“Not removed, just twisted,” Martin said. He grinned. “For example, a junior soldier looks very funny when he jumps into a pool of clear liquid and discovers, too late, that it’s alien piss.”
“Hah,” Rowe said. “I ...”
The roof fell in, just behind them. Martin leapt forward instinctively, unslinging his rifle as he heard the sound of armoured boots clattering into the pipes. He spun around, opening fire as the aliens brought up their own weapons. A dozen aliens died, but more were coming all the time. They’d tracked the patrol and mounted a surprise attack of their own.
Clever bastards, Martin thought, as he felt the ground beneath his feet begin to shift. The ring’s main supports were very strong, practically indestructible, but its interior was nothing of the sort. They might be about to fall down to the next level. Anyone who lived there was in for a nasty surprise. A million tons of alien piss and shit are about to land on their heads.
He threw a grenade up into the alien position, then snapped out a command. “Fall back.”
The team moved, laying down covering fire as they ran. Martin saw odd-coloured flames dancing among the alien wastes, as if they were on the verge of exploding. Gunpowder had originally come from shithouses, if he recalled correctly. Was something going to blow? A grenade exploded, further down the tube. Were the aliens trying to cut them off? Or ...
“Contact ahead,” Howe snapped. “Sir, we’re cut off!”
“Blow a hole in the ground,” Martin ordered. The pipe was already weakening. A good explosion might allow them to jump down to the next level. The aliens had already done it, damn it. Why couldn’t he? “Now!”
“Fire in the hole,” Sergeant Howe barked. “Brace for ...”
Martin looked away as the shaped charge detonated. The pipe base seemed to waver, then collapse in on itself like a whirlpool of destruction. Liquid - he didn't want to think what - spilled through the hole, heading downwards. Martin snapped orders, throwing a pair of grenades back at the ali
ens as the humans headed down to the next level. The shock of the explosion weakened the pipe still further, forcing him to jump in a hurry. Liquid waste pooled around his ankles as he landed in a heap. There was no time to brush it off.
“Harper’s snapped his leg, sir,” Rowe said. “I’ll carry him.”
“Give your grenades to me,” Martin said, ignoring Harper’s protests. No one doubted that Harper was a tough guy, but there was no time for pride. Better the indignity of being carried than either slowing the rest of the troop down or being left behind. “I’ll cover you.”
“Yes, sir,” Harper managed. He was breathing hard, his face pale and sweaty despite his combat implants. The damage had to be worse than it looked. “I can still hold a pistol ...”
The Long-Range War Page 26
