Across Enemy Space

by L. J. Simpson

  “Never quite found the time,” said Torrance.

  “You can learn a lot about life from fishing,” said Faulkner. “Preparation, patience, when to strike, and when to let something go. Of course, this is one fish we won’t be putting back in the pond.”

  * * *

  Fleet Operations, Trinity Base

  It was surprising just how many people were needed to monitor a subject twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. By now, Franklin knew most of his minders by sight and several of them by name, not that he was allowed to acknowledge any of them.

  He’d been cautioned that he would be watched closer than usual for the next few days, and warned in no uncertain terms not to stray from the protocols laid down for him. He was also told in precise detail what he was to do each day; where to go, at what time and for how long. Wherever he went he had at least two of Faulkner’s people watching his every move.

  Franklin was used to the rules, used to the surveillance and used to idea that his life was no longer his own. The extra scrutiny made little difference to his daily existence but it was enough to tell him that something out of the ordinary was taking place.

  His watch vibrated gently against his wrist; mid-day. He watched as most of his colleagues filed out of the office and headed off to the canteen. All except Harry, one of his minders, who seemed more interested in a spot on the wall just above Franklin’s head.

  Franklin had been instructed to take a late lunch. The reason was simple – a bustling canteen was the last place his minders wanted him to go. You needed to afford your target a little cover but not a place where he could hide; a busy place was good – crowds were bad.

  At exactly twelve thirty, Franklin left his office, walked along the corridor, down the stairs and left the building by the main doors. From there, he visited the station commissary, bought a sandwich and bottle of mineral water and then sat at one of the tables in the square between the commissary and canteen block.

  Harry had followed him outside, after which another agent took over and trailed him to the commissary. Inside the store, two more agents were already in place, covering every path Franklin might take. By the time Franklin sat down at a predetermined table, another agent was half way through her lunch a few tables away. Her place was taken by an elderly woman dressed in a nurse’s uniform, the relay continuing as several hundred people took their mid-day break.

  As Franklin unwrapped his lunch, he noticed Harry sauntering between the rows of tables – one face among many as dozens of uniformed personnel made their way back and forth across the base. Franklin picked up his oversized cheese-steak roll and took a large bite from the end. He was still munching when someone stopped beside him. The man bent down as if to retrieve something he had dropped and then straightened up, brushing against Franklin’s side as he did so.

  Franklin never saw the man’s face, but clearly heard him murmur the words ‘noble effort’ as he moved away. Still full of cheese-steak sandwich, Franklin’s mouth dropped wide open. His hand then went to his pocket where the stranger had brushed up against him. In the previously empty pocket Franklin’s fingers closed around a small metallic cylinder. He immediately raised his right hand and rubbed the back of his neck, signaling to his minders that contact had been made.

  Unsighted, the elderly nurse missed the entire episode. Harry saw the man straighten but then lost him in the people milling around the square. He glanced over to the nurse who shook her head. Franklin shrugged and continued munching away at his sandwich.

  Fortunately for Harry and the nurse, there was yet another agent on surveillance duty, one stationed on the roof of the canteen building. Better still, he’d watched the whole scene unfold through the lens of a camera. As the target disappeared from view behind the commissary, the agent patted his camera and nodded in satisfaction. Now that’s what he called a good day’s work. He could still see Harry frantically searching for the contact and allowed himself a smile – it was something he wouldn’t let Harry forget in a hurry. Then he packed away his equipment and made an immediate call to Brigadier Faulkner.

  Just minutes later, Faulkner had the pictures in his hand. He’d been unsure what emotions he might feel if and when he finally obtained a positive identification of the mole. Would he feel the elation of success? Pride in a job well done? Anger at the treachery of it all? As he studied the face in the photos, all he felt was surprise. That, and profound disappointment.

  Disappointment because despite everything, he’d still harbored the hope that Franklin’s tale about a spy at the top of the Alliance chain of command would turn out to be no more than simple disinformation. And surprise because he’d been less than confident that his plan would actually succeed. Although the lure they’d dangled in front of their adversary had been large indeed, Faulkner hadn’t expected their prey to take the bait quite so readily.

  But taken it he had – hook, line and sinker.

  Chapter 20: Lost Contact

  Alliance Signals and Cipher HQ

  Commander Topley peered over the shoulder of one of his operatives as an intercepted signal appeared on the monitor in front of him. The signal was being deciphered in real-time, or as real-time as it was possible to be, given the limitations of sub-space communications. Even so, the message was only minutes old rather than the years old it would have been had they been relying on traditional, speed of light communications. Topley reflected that if it had indeed been sent by radio, the private who’d sent it might well have been a general by now. Or perhaps still a private... or more likely just dead.

  The contents of the signal weren’t particularly significant – if they had been, the sender would have used a more secure code. Topley read through the first few lines which appeared to have originated from a stores depot whose detergent stocks were running low. Not exactly game changing information but they’d pass it on to the intelligence people just the same. The rest of the message was an almost never ending list of delivery estimates for various consumables. Topley was about to move on when the message started discussing munitions. Now we’re getting somewhere, he thought to himself. He leaned closer to get a better look when the message appearing on the screen suddenly froze in mid sentence. The operator tapped away at his keyboard to no avail.

  “Is it the de-coding software?” asked Topley.

  “I don’t think so,” said the operative. “We’ve lost the signal. Perhaps their transmitter is down.”

  Topley looked around and saw several other operatives trying to coax their consoles back to life. “Are we under some kind of cyber attack?”

  “No, sir,” said his security chief. “Firewalls are in place and all systems are functioning normally. As far as I can make out, there is almost no sub-space traffic emanating from Combine space. I would estimate that any signals are being blocked at source.”

  “How about from the Northern Territories?”

  The chief scanned his console and shook his head. “That’s strange... There’s nothing, sir… not a whisper. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Topley strode over and checked the incoming data streams for himself. Just a few moments previously, banks of subspace receivers had been toiling at near full capacity to isolate, analyze and classify thousands of messages, all simultaneously arriving on a host of discreet wave bands. Now there was almost complete silence. “Whatever this is, it’s a damned sight worse than strange,” he said. “Get me Trinity Base.”

  * * *

  Joint Chiefs, Trinity Base

  “Are you saying that we’ve lost all contact with the NT?” said Admiral Monk.

  “That’s the situation,” said Torrance. “For the present, at least.”

  “How the hell did the Combine manage that?”

  “We’re still not sure,” said Torrance. “But it’s clear that they have found a way to disrupt sub-space communication lanes – probably in much the same way that we disrupt warp fields. We are still picking up signals from Combine border posts but
all com-traffic beyond that has simply disappeared from our scopes.”

  “Including from our allies?”

  Torrance nodded. “Especially from our allies. We sent a pair of intruders as deep into Combine territory as we dared. They report no emissions from NT space – none whatsoever. We can only assume that whatever technology the Combine have deployed along our borders, they have deployed the same along their border with the NT.”

  “It doesn’t really matter how they did it,” said General Vandenberg. “If the coms are down, our plans to co-ordinate an attack with the NT just went to hell in a basket. Is there any way to counter the jamming?”

  “According to the science directorate, the only reliable way of doing that is by destroying the disrupters,” said Torrance. “And at present we don’t even have the means to locate them.”

  “Could we shuttle a signal around Combine space?” asked Leyland.

  “It’s theoretically possible, but the distances involved would make it problematic at best. We’d have to station a number of ships at strategic points outside Combine space – most of them in very exposed positions, and it goes without saying that as soon as they started relaying communications they’d become prime targets themselves, which means that they’d have to be very well protected. The operation would eat up so many resources we could well end up frittering away our forces protecting communications rather than making inroads into Combine space.”

  “How far had talks with the NT progressed?” asked Monk.

  “That, gentlemen, is the good news,” said Torrance. “I am able to tell you that negotiations were at a very advanced stage when communications were lost. The NT were fully briefed on both Operations Blowpipe and Divisive and a joint decision regarding the final strategy had already been reached. Most critically, the timing for the operation had been set. The only possible drawback is that we were unable to transmit the final confirmation code before the coms went down.”

  “And how big a drawback might that be?” asked Monk.

  “Difficult to assess, but I believe that the NT will see the situation as we see it. In any case, their options are limited by their situation. Assuming they don’t make terms with the Combine, their only real chance for survival is to go on the offensive – on time and as planned. One other thing in our favor is that we still have some lead time before the offensive begins. Perhaps the people in the science directorate will start earning their pay for real and find a way past those jammers.”

  “And the bad news?”

  “As you will imagine, with an operation of this magnitude, there are a host of minor details to attend to, many of which had yet to be finalized. Fortunately, they are mostly logistical in nature, which is something I imagine we can work our way around. On a more serious note, if we fail to restore communications before the offensive begins, we will have little or no idea how the NT are faring in battle. It’s hoped that once we’ve broken through the Combine lines, we’ll be able to isolate and destroy whatever it is that’s blocking our coms, at least temporarily. If we can’t, we will have no idea whether the NT are reaching their objectives on schedule, or even if they are reaching them at all, in which case all we can do is keep our side of the bargain and hope the NT are there to meet us at the rendezvous.”

  “Not exactly ideal,” said Leyland gravely.

  “No, gentlemen, it most certainly is not. Quite simply, we have two choices – to attack on schedule or to call off the operation.”

  “We only have one chance at this,” said Vandenberg. “Pull out now and we may never have a similar opportunity.”

  “I concur,” said Monk.

  “General Leyland?” asked Torrance.

  “We stick to the plan. I don’t see that we have any other choice.”

  “Then we are all in agreement, gentlemen. We go… we go as planned.”

  * * *

  Trinity Base Control Tower

  “Now here’s a sight that never gets boring,” said Commander Robbins as a hulking G86 transport dropped through the cloud layer and began its final approach into Trinity Base. “This your first time with a G86, Sawyer?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Sergeant Sawyer, one of the air traffic controllers on duty in the control tower.

  “No worries,” said Robbins. “Less room for error than most types, but that’s mostly for the pilot to worry about. As far as you’re concerned, the procedure is exactly the same. Just bring him in like all the rest.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, opening a channel to the G86. “Skytrain 460, you are two kilometers from runway threshold and cleared to land. You are on track and looking good.”

  Even at two kilometers, to those looking in the right direction the G86 was a distinct black smudge in the morning sky. Apparent to all was the sound of its engines, a deep, muffled roar that echoed across the base and beyond. For all that, as far as Sawyer was concerned, the G86 was just a blip on her radar screen. That was about to change.

  Sawyer counted down both range and altitude until the G86 was just seconds from touchdown. It was then that she looked up from her screen and saw the G86 come thundering over the perimeter fence. Robbins couldn’t help but smile as Sawyer’s jaw dropped. His had too, the first time.

  The black smudge had now grown to such extraordinary proportions that Sawyer seriously doubted the runway was wide enough. She then wondered if it could possibly be long enough. The G86 hurtled past in a crescendo of noise that pounded the air in her chest and shook the reinforced windows of the control tower. In unison, all eyes in the control room flashed from left to right like the pit crew of a race car, everyone craning their necks as their charge disappeared down the runway, clouds of dust and vapor billowing in its wake. It seemed to Sawyer that despite howl of the reverse thrusters, the G86 was barely slowing at all.

  “Don’t worry,” said Robbins. “They generally manage to stop before the end of the runway. If they don’t, there’s a crash barrier to slow them down – usually at the expense of the undercarriage – and if all else fails, they’ll just plough through the sand dunes on the other side of the base and belly flop into the ocean. Unless there’s a hull breach they float just fine. Anyway, we’ll know soon enough.”

  In the minutes that followed, it became apparent that the G86 had indeed come to a halt in a timely fashion. The absence of emergency sirens was the giveaway, the continued low rumble of engines telling the tower crew that the G86 was now taxiing to its berth on the far side if the base. “Show’s over,” said Robbins. “Back to work, everyone.”

  Sawyer once more turned her attention to her display. A new contact had appeared at the edge of the screen. Tapping the small yellow icon, the control systems identified it as a fleet runabout inbound from Loyola field. Seconds later, the shuttle made contact.

  “Good morning, Trinity Tower. This is Shuttle 3-5 requesting landing clearance.”

  “And a very good morning to you, 3-5,” said Sawyer. “You are cleared to land on runway 27-right. Wind is presently 185-9. Descend to level 340 and join landing path at your discretion.”

  “Roger, Tower. Descending now… and woah!”

  “Say again, Shuttle 3-5?”

  “Err, Trinity Tower, be advised we are experiencing problems with our flight control systems… Auto-nav is down… and we have only partial control of our lateral thrusters.”

  “Shuttle 3-5, do you wish to declare an emergency?” said Sawyer.

  “Affirmative, Tower. Shuttle 3-5 is declaring an emergency.”

  “Roger, 3-5,” said Sawyer, beckoning to her boss.

  “Alert the emergency crews and clear the runway and surrounding vicinity,” said Robbins. “How far out are they?”

  “Three kilometers and closing.”

  “I’ve got them,” said Robbins, gazing through a pair of high power binoculars. The shuttle was maintaining course but skidding wildly from left and right as it closed on the airfield.

  “Are they going to make it?” asked Sawyer.

&nb
sp; “Well, they have a big, wide runway to aim at. If they can hold it together for a just a little longer…”

  “Mayday! Mayday!” screamed the shuttle pilot. Flight control has gone! Throttles are unresponsive... I’m losing control! I’m losing–”

  “We’ve lost audio,” said Sawyer.

  “Damn… that’s not all we’re going to lose,” muttered Robbins under his breath. Shuttle 3-5 suddenly bucked and reared upwards at full power. It climbed erratically for almost a thousand meters before flipping over onto its back and then surging back to earth in a violent corkscrew. Still at full throttle, it slammed into the ground just inside the base’s perimeter fence. Robbins and the rest of the tower crew could only watch in horror as an angry, red fireball exploded into the sky. A muffled whumf reached them a few seconds later. “Poor devils,” said Robbins as the emergency sirens began to wail. “Sawyer, do you have a crew manifest?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, tapping at her controls. “Pilot, co-pilot and just one passenger. Oh my God… ”

  “What is it, Sergeant?”

  “The passenger, sir… it was Admiral Stewart.”

  On the far side of Trinity Base, Brigadier Faulkner watched the video feed in grim satisfaction as Shuttle 3-5 smashed into the ground. “Well, done, Lieutenant,” he said. “Right on the mark.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said the lieutenant, releasing his grip on the joystick and powering down his console. In a previous life, he’d been charged with dropping armed drones onto pinpoint targets inside enemy held territory. After that, dropping a shuttle within a one hundred meter area in friendly airspace was child’s play. The only difficult part had been mimicking a partial loss of flight control; it had to be done authentically or the crash investigators would begin to ask questions, and that wouldn’t do at all. A couple of hours in a flight simulator had taught him all he needed to know. Preparation was everything, after all, and that had included loading half a dozen fuel cells into the shuttle’s small cargo bay. They were down on the manifest, of course, and they guaranteed that when the shuttle fell to earth, whatever survived the impact would be incinerated by the igniting fuel cells.