Rogue Battleship

by Jake Elwood

  He was a dozen steps from the trees when twin machine guns opened up. Bullets shredded the ground in an angry line that started far to his left, tore across the ground directly in front of him, and moved on to his right. The aircraft passed directly overhead, the engine sound changing with the Doppler effect. He caught a glimpse of the aircraft’s shadow, made soft and blurry by the twin suns. The engine howled as the aircraft turned sharply, preparing for another run.

  Tom glanced left and right, checking for casualties. He couldn't see any, although with more than a hundred spacers milling around it was impossible to be sure. Some of them had stopped when the bullets struck, while others were moving even faster.

  “Into the trees!” Tom cried, his voice drowned out by shouts and screams on every side. Tom angled sideways, drawing a curse from a burly spacer who almost collided with him. A young man stood frozen, mouth open, gaping at the sky. Tom grabbed him and shoved him toward the trees. “Run!”

  They were still in the open when the machine guns opened up again. Someone screamed, and Tom flinched, expecting bullets to tear into his back at any instant.

  Wood crackled and broke as bullets ripped into the trees. There was another scream, this one more frightened than pained. Then Tom reached the trees. He dropped to his knees behind a pine and peered around the trunk.

  A last couple of spacers charged past, one man almost stepping on Tom. Branches rustled and crackled as the man ran deeper into the trees. Someone swore, a long string of curses that faded gradually into silence.

  A woman lay on the ground in front of Tom. She was no more than seven or eight paces away. She lay face-down, her arms stretched toward him as if she were reaching for the safety of the trees. She had a pair of terrible wounds in her back. He could see the curve of a rib and a lump that had to be part of her spine.

  The sound of the aircraft engine deepened, and someone directly behind Tom whimpered. He got his first good look at the craft as it swept along the edge of the trees. It was a design he'd never seen before, a fixed-wing plane with actual propellers. It seemed almost comically quaint, although he supposed it had its uses for antipersonnel work. A jet or rocket-propelled craft would move too quickly. This old-fashioned machine with its propellers could putter along and give the gunners plenty of time to line up their shots.

  The plane swung around, then opened up again with both machine guns, strafing the heart of the clump of trees. Someone fired a blast rifle, and a ragged hole appeared in the underside of the fuselage. The plane jerked sideways, breaking off its strafing run. It climbed rapidly and circled the trees at a height of a thousand meters or so.

  “Sir? Commodore?” A hand tugged at Tom's pant leg.

  I'm not a commodore now that the fleet is broken up. He didn't speak the thought aloud. He glanced backward to see a pale young man reaching around the base of a tree. “Sir? They've found a path. Looks like a deer trail. It stays pretty deep in the trees.” He pointed south and west. “Seems to go off that way.”

  “Show me,” said Tom. “Then spread the word. We don't want anyone left behind.”

  The path was narrow but navigable. The survivors formed a long, straggling line as they moved farther from the road. It made communication difficult. Tom worked his way eventually to the front of the line, and passed back orders when he thought of them. “Stay spread out. If that plane makes another strafing run, we don't want it taking out a whole crowd.”

  The aircraft was still up there, mostly hidden by the trees but always audible. The steady drone of the engine put Tom's nerves on edge. The volume rose and fell as the plane wandered back and forth, but there was never the sharp increase in volume that would come with another low strafing run. The pilot is scared. He's keeping a safe distance. I need to find out who put that shot through the fuselage and make sure they get a medal.

  The plane wasn't attacking directly, but he had no illusions that they were safe. As long as the plane was up there, the enemy knew exactly where they were. It also meant the fugitives had to stay off the road. How long before ground forces get here? How long before we’re cut off and surrounded?

  There was nothing he could do about it, so he shifted his focus to the trees around him and the narrow brown stripe of the path.

  “Sir? Commodore, you shouldn't be in the lead. We should send scouts ahead.”

  Tom glanced over his shoulder. A spacer named Hendrix walked behind him, his expression earnest and determined. He hadn't been there the last time Tom looked over his shoulder.

  “Did O'Reilly send you?”

  Hendrix nodded. “But it's true. You shouldn't be in the lead.”

  “I'm fine where I am.” Tom turned away.

  “I grew up on Novograd. I hunted deer and antelope in forest just like this.” Hendrix hustled forward, slipped past Tom in a crackle of branches, and took the lead.

  “I'm Cree,” Tom said. “Forests are in my blood.”

  Hendrix nodded as if he was agreeing, but he picked up the pace, quickly leaving Tom behind.

  Tom sighed. “So much for military discipline.”

  Two more scouts squeezed past him in the next few minutes. One of them returned a few minutes later, a skinny older man rubbing one cheek where a branch had scratched him. “The trail peters out up ahead, Tom. Sorry, I mean Commodore. Or is it Captain?”

  “Commodore is fine,” Tom said. “We've got too many captains.”

  The scout nodded. “Anyway, the trees end and the trail goes off across the grass. But there's a long strip of trees in a straight line. We’ll still have some cover, although it will be pretty obvious where we are.”

  Tom pretended to consider the matter. The truth was, they had no choice but to keep on going for as long as there was any cover at all. When they reached the last tree they would just keep on walking, out into the open, and hope the aircraft continued to keep its distance. Stopping was no option at all.

  “We'll carry on,” he said.

  The scout nodded and hurried on ahead.

  The last pines ended when the ground turned stony underfoot. Tom stopped at the edge of the trees. He could see the deer path continuing across the open grassland for a few paces, then fading. The animals, no longer constrained by the trees, would have quickly dispersed.

  Off to the left was a line of trees quite different from the conifers he'd been walking through. A row of broadleaf trees stretched across the open prairie in an almost straight line. The trees were evenly spaced, and all about the same size, tall and majestic with the leaves lightly touched by gold. Apparently it's autumn.

  He squinted at the sky. For the moment the aircraft was out of sight. He glanced over his shoulder, where spacers were beginning to bunch up on the trail behind him. “Let's go. Don't dawdle.”

  He stepped into the open, turning so he skirted the edge of the trees. If the plane came after them, a quick step would take everyone back into cover.

  The aircraft remained mercifully out of sight, though, as he hurried along the edge of the trees. He quickly reached the line of broadleaf trees. Thick brush choked the gaps between the trees, but he pushed his way through.

  The brush ended abruptly, and Tom found himself on an overgrown road. Another line of broadleaf trees – he figured they were elms – grew on the far side of the road. The branches met overhead, forming an almost perfect ceiling of leaves. The road made a gloomy tunnel leading off across the prairie.

  In the opposite direction the road curved to follow the perimeter of the pine trees. It was barely recognizable as a road, the surface obscured by brush and young trees. This was not the stone and asphalt road they'd been on when the aircraft first arrived. This was little more than two ruts of packed dirt with a smattering of gravel. It was obviously long-neglected, with young trees as tall as his waist growing between the ruts. Even within the ruts there were saplings as tall as his knee.

  I don't like it. We'll be all strung out in a line. If that plane makes a strafing run we’ll be perfect targets.
He won't be able to see us through the leaves, but he'll know where we are.

  Well, turning back and staying still both made lousy options. Tom shrugged to himself, turned his back on the little pine forest, and started walking.

  The pilot above must have spotted someone leaving the pines, because the plane continued to circle directly above. The engine noise rose and faded and rose again as they walked. They spread out as best they could, but the muscles in Tom’s shoulders still tightened every time the plane came closer.

  Hendrix came walking down the roadway, turning as Tom reached him. The two men walked side-by-side. “It goes about another kilometer,” Hendrix said. “There's a bit of a turn, and then the trees end. There's a line of spruce, but only on one side. And then there's a farm.”

  “Really?” Tom looked around. “This whole area looks abandoned.”

  “It is.” Hendrix nodded. “The farm’s abandoned too. At least I think so. Jeff is checking it out. It's the end of the road, though. There's nothing but open fields all gone to seed. There's no more trees.”

  Tom turned aside and pushed through the thick brush between the elms. At its shortest the greenery was chest high. In other places it rose well above his head. He realized he hadn't had a good look at the surrounding countryside in quite a while.

  He broke through the brush, flinching in spite of himself when he saw the plane circling high above. The closest trees were several kilometers away, a dark blot near the horizon. Closer in was farmland, abandoned for years, quickly being reclaimed by nature. He saw waist-high grass, mixed brush, and a few clusters of spruce no more than a meter tall. Some elm saplings poked up close to the tree line, and he saw a patch of barley liberally mixed with weeds, all that remained of the crops that had once grown here.

  “It's about the same on the other side,” said Hendrix.

  “Maybe there’s something we can use at the farm,” Tom said. “Maybe a vehicle.” But what vehicle could carry this many people? And the machine guns on that aircraft would make short work of a ground vehicle.

  “The buildings have stone walls,” Hendrix said. “They look pretty sturdy.”

  The end of the road, you said. I guess it is, in more ways than one. “Lead the way,” Tom said. “Let's go see what we've got.”

  An hour later, the refugees crouched in the meager cover of a line of giant spruce trees that formed the eastern border of a farmyard. A matching line of trees marked the northern perimeter. That had to indicate the direction of the prevailing winds.

  At first glance the farm didn't look abandoned. The yard had been planted with some variety of grass that didn't grow more than ankle high, and it had largely kept other plants from taking root. There was a house and barn, each two stories high, each with intact windows and no obvious damage. A small outbuilding had collapsed, and there was a tree growing at the base of the house, close enough that it would be a real problem when it got bigger. He had to look closely to see the dirt on the windows and the weeds beginning to make inroads in the grass.

  Wide doors on the front of the barn swung open, pushed by Hendrix and another scout. Hendrix ran toward the house while the other scout retreated into the barn. Hendrix opened the front door of the house, then stood to one side, shading his eyes as he watched the sky.

  The aircraft traced a lazy circle over the farmyard. When it moved beyond the tree line Tom rose to his feet. “Let's go. Into the barn or the house, whichever is closer.”

  The crew headed across the overgrown lawn at a jog. This sudden rush of exposed targets must have been more than the pilot above them could resist, because the pitch of the aircraft engine changed. The drone deepened to a roar that rose in volume, and half a dozen people with shoulder guns stopped running and turned to face the threat.

  Tom ran for the barn, but stopped short of the doors, stepping to one side so he was out of the way. The plane came in low, but banked to one side and climbed without opening fire.

  “Coward,” a woman jeered, lowering a laser rifle. She made a rude gesture at the aircraft, then ran to the house and vanished inside.

  Tom's briefly held hope that the barn might contain a vehicle was quickly dashed. The inside of the building was cool and dim and mostly empty. A large machine occupied the center of the barn, some sort of feed and water distribution system with hoses and pipes running to troughs in stalls all around it. The floor held a thick layer of dust that rose as the spacers milled around.

  “Let's get the wounded away from the entrance,” Tom said. “Put them on the far side of that machine. See if you can disassemble one of those stalls and make tables.” He looked around, scanning faces, seeing who had ended up in this building with him. “Alice. Check the perimeter. From the inside,” he added as she headed for the big doors. “See if there are any exits.” He gestured at the ceiling, which was much lower than the barn's high roof. “Figure out how we get upstairs, and see what's up there.”

  A man said, “Should we close the big doors, Commodore?”

  “Close them most of the way.”

  The barn grew darker as the doors swung closed. A window on the south wall let in a diffuse beam of sunlight which shone on the dust in the air to become a glittering silver column.

  “Move to the sides, people,” Tom said. “When the shooting starts, there's going to be bullets coming through those doors.”

  The spacers dispersed, dividing into two groups and heading for opposite walls. Tom, ignoring his own order, moved to the meter-wide gap where the doors met.

  The yard looked sunny and peaceful. Bucolic, even. He could almost believe the drone of the circling aircraft was nothing more than bumblebees looting nearby flowers.

  It was hard to believe that death was coming.

  Alice appeared at his elbow. “There's a door at the back,” she said, “and the loft has windows on all four sides. I've got people at each window.”

  The ground-floor windows were too high to give a view of anything but sky. Tom nodded his thanks. “Good work.”

  “There's nothing really up there but empty space,” she said. “Anyone who has hay fever should stay down here. I think they used it to store alfalfa.”

  “Would it be a good place for the wounded?”

  She bit her lip, considering. “There isn't really a proper staircase. There's steps, but they’re like this.” She held her arm up at a steep angle, well past forty-five degrees. “I wouldn't want to be on a stretcher getting hauled up there.”

  “All right. We'll leave them where they're at for now.” He wanted to draw her away from the doors. He wanted to keep her safe, but that would be an insult. He looked around the barn, thinking.

  “We're in a tight spot,” Alice murmured.

  Tom's instincts told him to put on a show of confidence and reassure her. But this was Alice. She could read the situation as well as he could. He nodded. “But we're not dead yet.”

  She surprised him by smiling.

  There was no sign of O'Reilly, so Tom said to Alice, “You're in charge here. I'm going to the house.”

  Alice's eyes widened. “What do I do?” she said, her voice low and urgent.

  “Get ready,” he said, just as softly. When she opened her mouth he interrupted. “I don't know what to do exactly. But you can figure it out as easily as I can.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, her forehead puckered. Then her features smoothed and she nodded.

  Tom leaned outside, scanned the sky, and didn't see the aircraft. He stepped out and ran for the house. It scared him, but he made it to the front door without incident.

  The farmhouse had a lot more light than the barn. There were plenty of windows, which made for good visibility but lousy cover. Well, there's a couple of dozen guns in here. We'll be able to make the most of our firepower.

  He found O'Reilly striding from room to room, giving out orders and quiet words of encouragement. He had all sorts of good ideas that hadn't occurred to Tom, like grouping people with similar weapons
so they could share ammunition. He'd set up a medical station with the wounded stretched out sofas or mattresses, and space set aside for fresh casualties. A medical team stood ready, sleeves rolled up to their elbows, hands freshly scrubbed.

  Tom decided not to interrupt him, waving at the man to carry on when O'Reilly glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. Tom leaned against a wall and watched, letting his subconscious work.

  The inside of the farmhouse was simultaneously cheery and depressing. Where the inside walls of the barn were mortared stone, the walls of the house had been coated in plaster decorated with delicate whirls. There were marks on a support beam where parents had recorded the heights of the children, and he could see a bedroom with teddy bears painted on the walls.

  Endless change was the nature of terraforming. Tinkering with the climate of an entire planet was a massive undertaking, a process that was difficult to start and difficult to stop. Novograd would probably have another hundred years of temperature fluctuations before it stabilized. In the meantime, farmers lived with the knowledge that from time to time they would simply have to pack up and move.

  Still, there was something sad about this abandoned home that had obviously known much happiness and love. It deserved better than to become a battleground.

  The front door opened and Hendrix came in. He scanned the room, spotted Tom, and hurried over, giving a clumsy salute.

  “Don't salute me, Hendrix.”

  “Sorry, Commodore.” He gestured behind him. “Everything's quiet outside, but I want to put a man on the other side of the tree line. Right now the trees block the view.”

  Tom nodded, thinking about it. “How would you like a field promotion, Hendrix?”

  The man's eyes widened.

  “You’re a lieutenant until further notice. Requisition as many people as you need. Ground forces will be coming, and I want to know about it well in advance.”

  Hendrix nodded, started to lift his hand in a salute, then hastily lowered it. “You can count on me!” He turned away, scanning the room for recruits into his scouting squad.

  Can't he see what a dangerous job it is? And now he's responsible for all the people who have to leave the shelter of the stone walls. But Hendrix looked energized and cheerful as he bustled through the farmhouse. I've done him a real favor, Tom realized. He's got something to do. The rest of us just have to wait.