A crashing sound echoed through the air, followed rapidly by an explosion as the first mine detonated. She allowed herself to hope, just for a second, that it would deter the aliens, but it barely slowed them down. Two more mines detonated in quick succession, each one killing dozens of aliens and injuring scores more, but they kept coming anyway. Alice cursed out loud as she braced herself, even though part of her wondered if she should be grateful they were pushing so hard. No rational commanding officer would drop KEWs on an enemy force when their own forces were so close that friendly casualties were unavoidable.
But the virus doesn’t care, she told herself. It might drop a KEW on us at any moment and to hell with the number of host-bodies that get taken out too.
Another alert flashed up in her visor. Sergeant Radcliffe had launched a pair of drones, even though it was technically a breach of orders. Alice was fairly sure that Major Parkinson wouldn’t say anything about it. There was no way to dispute that the virus knew where they were, not with thousands of aliens bearing down on them. A screen opened in front of her, showing the live feed from the drones. It looked as if every town within a hundred miles had opened its gates and hurled its population against the invaders. If anything, Hammersmith had underestimated the number of aliens marching to the sound of the guns.
“I think I’m getting a mite depressed,” Corporal Tindal commented, dryly.
“Load the mortars,” Sergeant Radcliffe ordered, ignoring Tindal. “Fire on my command.”
The night sky lit up as the mortar shells crashed down amidst the alien hordes. Alice cursed the virus, once again, as the HE shells exploded, killing dozens of aliens. But there were always more, running towards the trenches. She wondered, grimly, if they should have packed antipersonnel rounds as well as HE, although it was unlikely that Captain Shields would have agreed. Antipersonnel rounds were rarely used in combat outside the Security Zone. They were practically banned everywhere else.
And besides, we don’t know what sort of gases will kill them and what will merely make their lives miserable, she thought. We might make them more determined to kill us than they were even before.
Alice leaned forward, interested, as Sergeant Radcliffe gave the order to fire a handful of pulsar shells. The boffins had come up with them and fast-tracked production, although - according to the briefing papers - the generals hadn’t been too keen on the idea. Testing experimental hardware in the field was not, generally speaking, a good idea ... but they had to know if the pulsars worked. Her helmet darkened slightly as the pulsars detonated, blazing the aliens in high-intensity ultraviolet light, but they didn’t seem to have any effect. The viral matter floating around the aliens had been killed, she was sure, yet the pulsars couldn’t touch the viral clusters inside their host bodies. The results had been disappointing.
“Perhaps we could just drop the shells on their heads,” Hammersmith commented. “It might be more effective.”
Alice had no time to reply as the first wave of aliens lurched into view. It was a ragged formation, more like a desperate charge than a formal parade, but the aliens kept coming anyway. She depressed the trigger, picking off the first few aliens as she’d done before, yet the oncoming tide was relentless. For every alien she killed, two more sprang up to take their place. She saw blood splashing in all directions as the aliens died. They just kept coming.
A string of explosions shook the ground as more mortar shells crashed down and exploded with staggering force. Alice saw, just for a second, a gap in the enemy formation, but it was gone before she could think of a way to take advantage of it. She checked the live feed from the drones and felt ice tingling around her heart. The reserve alien formations were picking up speed, filling in the holes created by the mortars. No human force could have taken so many casualties and remained in action. It was yet another reminder that the virus considered its host bodies to be utterly expendable.
They’re not going to believe this, when we get back home, she thought, as she shot another alien. They’ll think we’re making it up.
“Machine guns, engage,” Sergeant Radcliffe said. “Riflemen, pause.”
Alice ducked, instinctively, as she heard the chatter-chatter-chatter of machine guns - and bullets snapping over her head. The alien line seemed to wilt, just for a second, as the bullets tore through them. She hoped - she prayed - that the machine guns would be enough to stop them in their tracks. It had to be, didn’t it? The aliens were practically being torn apart, their bodies disintegrating under the impact of so many bullets. Sergeant Radcliffe and his men were using their machine guns like fire hoses, spraying the alien lines ruthlessly. Each bullet was hitting two or three or more aliens before it finally fell to the ground ...
... And yet, the aliens kept coming.
“This is impossible,” Tartar said. He sounded as if he was on the verge of hysteria. “How do they keep coming?”
“Focus,” Sergeant Radcliffe snapped. They didn’t have the numbers to allow even one person to leave the trenches. “Concentrate on your job.”
Alice understood, better than she cared to admit. Soldiers weren’t machines. They could be broken by endless horror and slaughter. They could give up when they realised that, for all their efforts, nothing was really being achieved. But she was damned if she was going to throw down her gun and let the bastards slaughter her. Every host-body she killed was one more native released from enslavement. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.
“You’re not going to like this, Boss-Man,” Hammersmith said. “We’ve got movement coming in from all over the place. I think they’re sending zillions of people to die on our guns.”
“... Shit,” Sergeant Radcliffe said. “On my mark, we’ll go danger-close with the mortars and fall back to the inner trenches.”
Alice sucked in her breath. A fighting retreat was nightmarish enough at the best of times. A fighting retreat with a horde of maddened aliens intent on tearing her to shreds - or infecting her with an alien virus - was worse. And detonating HE mortar rounds at danger-close ranges - practically on top of the trenches - might easily turn the engagement into a complete disaster. Mortar shells weren’t the most accurate weapons in the world, even under perfect conditions. The engagement was very far from perfect.
“On my mark,” Sergeant Radcliffe warned. “Danger-close in ten ... nine ...”
Alice watched the timer closely. At two seconds, she hurled a grenade at the advancing aliens and ducked into the trench. The ground shook madly a second later, the grenade lost in the far greater explosion as the mortar shells detonated. Dirt cascaded on top of her, a grim reminder that the trench had been dug in a hurry. Thankfully, she told herself as she scrambled up and ran for the inner trenches, it had also been dug by someone who’d known what he was doing. The trench hadn’t collapsed with her still inside it.
“Danger-close in ten,” Sergeant Radcliffe said, again. “Nine ... eight ...”
Alice hit the ground, a second before the mortar rounds came down and exploded. The earth heaved under her - she was sure the trench had collapsed now, even if it had survived the earlier explosions - but she forced herself to stand and run anyway. Sergeant Radcliffe and his men opened fire with the machine guns, again, yet this time they were limiting their fire to short bursts. It didn’t take a genius to realise that they were running out of ammunition.
And that we have nowhere else to run, Alice thought. The aliens were throwing in attacks from all directions. She’d studied battles where one side let itself get trapped, without a line of retreat, and they rarely ended well for the defenders. There was a way out, this time, but it was a trap. If we head to orbit ...
She keyed her communicator. “What about the ship? Have we heard anything from them?”
“Fuck-all,” Sergeant Radcliffe called back. “We don’t know what they’re doing.”
Alice checked the live feed, again. It seemed impossible, but - if anything - the alien numbers seemed to be growing. The forest was litt
ered with the bodies of the dead and they were still coming. She wanted to think that the newcomers wouldn’t get to the shuttle in time to join the slaughter, but she knew better. Given the speeds the aliens could run - it seemed strange to think of them as natural runners, but they’d win a human marathon with ease - it was quite likely they’d arrive in plenty of time.
“Ah,” Hammersmith said. His voice was inhumanly calm. “I’ve got aircraft lifting off from the alien base. Fast little buggers too. They’ll be on top of us in ten minutes.”
“Activate the automated defences, but do not clear them to fire until I give the word,” Sergeant Radcliffe said, after a moment. He sounded like a man who had come to a grim resolution. “Fire Teams Two and Three, get into the shuttle; pilots, flash-wake the drives.”
We could hunker down in the shuttle, Alice thought. The stealth shuttle might be less sturdy than an assault shuttle, but the hull was still impregnable as far as the native aliens were concerned. Sticks and stones would no more break the shuttle’s armour than her fists could punch through a battlesuit. But who knew what weapons the incoming aircraft were carrying? Besides, if the engagement looks hopeless, the virus might just drop a KEW on us anyway.
She glanced at the sergeant and knew, with complete certainty, what he had in mind. The alien station might be gone - or it might be trading blows with Invincible and her starfighters. Either way, their only safety lay in flight. If they could get into orbit before the alien aircraft arrived, or even high enough to make pursuit impossible, they might just be able to escape. It was a gamble - and if the gamble didn’t pay off, they were dead - but what other choice did they have?
“Get the rest of the team into the shuttle now,” Sergeant Radcliffe ordered. His tone brooked no contradiction as he snapped out a command, ordering the automatic weapons to engage the enemy. “We take off in one minute.”
“Understood, Sarge,” Alice said. The shuttle’s drives were already whining. She could feel the ground quivering as the drive field powered up. Behind her, the automatic weapons started to fire. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Sir, the marines are unable to hold the landing zone,” Newcomb reported. “They’re going to have to take off.”
Stephen nodded, grimly. The brief flash-reports from the ground had been horrific. He’d hoped to have time to reduce the enemy station before the marines had to leave, despite the risk of the station dropping KEWs on the marine LZ, but it was clear they’d have to move faster. Their luck might just have run out.
“Order the starfighters to engage the station,” Stephen ordered. “They are to concentrate on stripping it of its defences.”
“Aye, Captain.”
And then we bring the ship into engagement range, Stephen thought. It was possible the starfighters could kill the station by themselves, but he doubted it. The wretched structure appeared to be as tough as a battleship. And then we take it apart piece by piece.
***
“That’s a big station,” Monica commented, as the starfighters closed in on the orbiting monstrosity. “What do you think it does?”
Richard shrugged. The station wasn’t a blocky mass of prefabricated components, like the orbital receiving and transhipment stations he’d seen throughout his career, but a single structure, armed to the teeth. Plasma fire was already flashing towards the starfighters, forcing them to scatter into evasive manoeuvres even though there was no way anyone could hope to shoot plasma weapons accurately at extreme range. Any hits would come through luck, rather than judgement.
Not that it would be any relief to anyone who actually gets hit, he thought, coldly. They’ll be dead regardless.
He was fairly certain the station was nothing more than an orbital battlestation, although he didn’t think there was anything on the planet worth protecting. There was no hint the virus considered the natives to be anything other than host-bodies. They certainly didn’t have a sizable industrial base in the system ... unless, he supposed, they were farming the aliens themselves. There was no reason they couldn’t tranship a few thousand natives to another world and put them to work, if they had a sudden manpower shortage. It wasn’t as if they had to waste time educating the host-bodies. The virus knew everything it needed to know already.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, pushing the macabre thought out of his head. “Concentrate on your job.”
“Aye, sir,” Monica said.
“Lock torpedoes on target,” Richard ordered. “Fire on my command. I say again, fire on my command.”
The station’s fire grew more accurate as the starfighters slipped closer, zigzagging from side to side to make it harder for the enemy to score a hit. Richard doubted the torpedoes would hit the alien structure - if the virus hadn’t realised they were dangerous before they’d taken out one of the cruisers, it certainly did now - but they’d force the virus to concentrate its point defence on the tiny projectiles. His starfighters would have a chance to get closer, for what it was worth. The virus hadn’t converted an asteroid into an orbital fortress, if his scanners were to be believed, but it was clear the battlestation was heavily armoured. It was quite likely that the starfighters wouldn’t be able to do more than scratch the fortress’s paint.
“Launch torpedoes,” he snapped. “I say again, launch torpedoes.”
There was a fraction of a second’s hesitation on the part of the aliens - he thought - and then the virus hastily redirected its fire. Richard smiled to himself, then snapped orders as he gunned the drive, zooming towards his first target. He bottomed out as he neared the station, his guns already opening fire as the targeting computers picked out enemy weapons stations and sensor blisters. They might not be able to take out the station, but they could render it defenceless - and blind. The virus didn’t seem to have bothered to invest in a network of stealthed scansats, unlike Earth’s defenders. They’d have seen the stealth shuttle, Richard thought, if they had.
“Keep shooting,” he ordered, as the last of the torpedoes was blown into vapour. The starfighters were - in theory - underneath the enemy weapons, making it impossible for the virus to bring its plasma cannons to bear on them, but there was no way to be entirely certain the virus couldn’t target them anyway. Invincible’s point defence weapons were designed to close that particular blind spot, if the captain was prepared to take the risk of hammering his own ship’s hull. “Don’t give them a chance to react.”
The station seemed to grow larger as he swung the starfighter past a protruding structure - his scanners suggested it was a docking tube, although it was too large to transfer personnel and too small to tranship cargo - and picked off two more plasma cannons. It looked as though the station’s fire was slacking, despite desperate attempts to bring their weapons to bear on the starfighters. The virus, Richard guessed, hadn’t expected to be attacked here. It hadn’t taken the basic precautions that any human navy would have taken, once it knew a war had broken out. But then, the virus presumably hadn’t expected to encounter a major spacefaring race. Its slow expansion towards Falkirk had been marked with a complete lack of concern about what it might discover. There was certainly little chance of picking up radio transmissions from Earth ...
“That’s the last of their antishipping missile tubes gone,” Monica said. “The ship is clear to approach.”
Richard nodded. The station had been firing missiles towards Invincible, but the range had been so extreme that they’d gone ballistic long before they’d neared the giant carrier. More proof, if he’d wanted it, that the virus hadn’t been expecting trouble. The analysts had predicted that the virus could and would manufacture vast numbers of long-range antishipping missiles, assuming it had the technology and inclination to produce them, but they clearly hadn’t assigned any to Alien-3. Either that, or they didn’t have them. He reminded himself, sharply, not to take it for granted. Even if the virus didn’t have long-range missiles, it would rush them into production as soon as it saw them in action.
<
br /> Which may be a while, Richard thought. The missiles are so expensive that they’re rarely assigned to starships on deep-space missions.
He shrugged. “Pull back,” he ordered. “We don’t want to get caught between Invincible and her target.”
“Aye, sir.”
***
“The marines are boosting for orbit,” Newcomb reported. “There’s no sign that they’re at risk of being killed.”
“Maybe,” Stephen said. Invincible was gliding steadily into weapons range. The alien station looked harmless, now the starfighters had worked her over, but he knew better than to take that for granted. Besides, he needed to know just how tough the alien armour was. The sensors had suggested that it wasn’t anything like the armour protecting his ship. “Tactical, do we have weapons lock?”
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