An alarm bleeped. “Captain,” Arthur said. “They should see us now.”
“Maintain course,” Stephen said. The time-delay would shrink as the range closed, but ... it was still frustrating. There were too many unanswered questions about the remainder of the system for him to be entirely happy with the situation. “Commander Newcomb, bring the ship to battlestations and launch the CSP.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Stephen watched, grimly, as the timer rapidly ticked down to zero. The aliens knew ... what were they doing? Slowly, surely, a handful of icons started to glide away from the shipyard, heading straight towards the ghost fleet. He sucked in his breath as the aliens started to launch dozens - no, hundreds - of starfighters, without waiting for the range to close. The virus was sending its pilots to their deaths. There was no way their life-support packs would hold out long enough to let them be recovered before it was too late.
“Realign the point defence,” he ordered, quietly. If the virus considered the starfighters expendable, it wouldn’t hesitate to order kamikaze attacks. “We have to expect ramming attacks.”
“Aye, sir,” Arthur said.
“And prepare to alter course on my mark,” Stephen added. The starfighters had thrown an unexpected crimp into his plans, one he knew he should have anticipated. If they got close enough to attack, they’d be close enough to punch through the jamming and see that the ghost fleet was nothing more than a handful of decoys and sensor ghosts. “The CSP is to engage the starfighters when they come into range.”
“Aye, sir,” Newcomb said.
Stephen braced himself as the range closed. The aliens really had stuck a knife into his plans, one that was likely to prove disastrous. If they got too close ... the CSP had to engage the enemy at extreme range, which would make it harder for the starfighters to rearm before the lighter alien ships entered engagement range themselves. It would be longer before the virus could bring its capital ships to bear, but the lighter ships would be more than enough to deal with Invincible. The only thing that might deter them from pressing the offensive was the ghost fleet ...
“Mark,” he ordered. “Reverse course now.”
“Aye, Captain.”
***
“They’re coming in hot and heavy,” Richard said. The alien starfighters were overpowering their drives, aiming themselves directly at the ghost fleet rather than preparing to engage the CSP. “We need to wipe as many of them as possible before they get into point defence range.”
He smiled, humourlessly. The ghost fleet had many problems, including the simple fact that it had absolutely no point defence. It would be hard for anyone not to smell a rat when the ghost fleet didn’t start pumping out plasma fire at incoming starfighters, particularly when it was clear that the starfighters had absolutely no intention of returning home. Worse, perhaps, the handful of real starships would be easy to identify. They’d be the ones actually fighting to save themselves from certain destruction.
“Engage at will,” he ordered. “I say again, engage at will.”
His targeting computers snapped to life, spitting lethal bolts of plasma towards the nearest targets. The aliens weren’t just coming in fast, they were coming in straight lines ... he blinked in surprise as the enemy starfighters practically impaled themselves on his plasma bolts. He’d expected to kill a few of them, but dozens? Half of his pilots made ace within the first few seconds. Was the virus so desperate to take out the ghost fleet that it was prepared to spend its starfighters so casually? Or did it have something else in mind?
“They must be robots,” someone breathed.
“Worse than robots,” Monica said, as the alien starfighters returned fire. “They’re hosts.”
“Take them out before they get smarter,” Richard snapped. If there was one advantage to the alien formation, it was that they’d have a chance to blow through his pilots and rocket onwards to engage their targets while his starfighters reversed course and gave chase. It wouldn’t be a problem, normally, but now it might just work in their favour. The range was already narrowing rapidly. “We don’t want them getting any closer.”
An alien starfighter shot past his craft - so close he thought he could have seen it with the naked eye - as a new wave of incoming starfighters entered the display. It looked as if the aliens had successfully drawn the CSP out of position, although - as he couldn’t help noticing - it was unlikely they realised what they’d done. Unless, of course, they hadn't been fooled by the ghost fleet. They had to assume that the remainder of the human starfighters would be launching within the next few seconds. There was a difference between ensuring the pilots were as fresh as possible before they were shot into battle and leaving them in the tubes long enough to be blown out of space as their carriers came under attack.
But those damn starfighters don’t exist, he thought. And they will figure it out when those fleet carriers don’t start launching their ships.
“Squadrons One and Two, reverse course and cover the drones,” he ordered. “Squadrons Three and Four, give the second wave a thrashing.”
“Aye, sir,” Monica said. “We’ll give them a thrashing they won’t forget.”
Richard nodded as he spun his starfighter around on its axis and gunned the drives. The craft’s acceleration curves were high, certainly when compared to a capital ship’s, but they weren’t fast enough to get them back into engagement range before it was too late. His sensors bleeped, informing him that the jamming was getting stronger in a desperate bid to keep the aliens from informing their comrades that the ghost fleet was nothing more than an illusion, yet there was no guarantee that it would succeed. A starfighter that passed through a starship it had tried to ram - and flew out on the other side - would be just as revealing as a single message. Richard and his pilots had a handful of codewords for emergency situations. He didn’t dare assume that the aliens would be anything less than well-prepared themselves.
“They’re aiming towards the rear of the fleet,” he said, watching as the ghost fleet altered course. There was nothing wrong with the enemy tactics, if one accepted both their utter ruthlessness ... and the existence of the ghost fleet. Ramming a starship’s drive section might not be enough to destroy it, but it would certainly slow it down. Any enemy commander worth his salt would prefer to smash an enemy fleet piecemeal than risk engaging a unified body. “Hit them as hard as you can.”
They have to place more value on their capital ships, he told himself, firmly. One of the ghost ships vanished, the nuclear warhead attached to the drone detonating as the alien starfighters pounded the illusionary hull with plasma fire. Hopefully, it would look as though they’d scored a lucky hit. They won’t throw battleships away like starfighters.
And then an alien starfighter came into range and there was no more time for anything, but fighting to the death.
***
“They’ve taken out four of the drones,” Lieutenant Alison Adams said. “The nukes detonated on cue.”
“Good,” Stephen said.
He opened his mouth to ask another question, then thought better of it. There was no point in demanding to know if the nukes had tricked the aliens into thinking they’d taken out a capital ship. Alison couldn’t even begin to answer the question. A human observer would want to believe that he hadn’t just expended nearly four entire wings of starfighters for nothing, but the virus had the distinct advantage of not having irate superiors and REMFs who needed to be placated. It wouldn’t have to answer questions about its conduct, unless they’d grossly misunderstood its true nature. Was it a single entity, or a handful of separate mega-clusters of viral matter, or something so alien that its true nature could not be understood?
“The ghost fleet has completed the redeployment,” Newcomb reported. “We’re heading away from the target now.”
“The rest of their fleet is in pursuit,” Alison added. “Their lighter ships will be within firing range in twenty minutes.”
“Tactical, engage wit
h mass drivers,” Stephen ordered. The odds of hitting a target were low - and the odds of a projectile shooting past its target and striking the shipyard were even lower - but it would keep the enemy focused on the ghost fleet. Hopefully, they wouldn’t start to wonder why the entire fleet wasn’t pumping out projectiles at a terrifying rate. “Aim for any visible command ships.”
“Aye, Captain,” Arthur said.
Stephen settled back in his command chair, forcing himself to wait as the battle fell into a brief lull. The alien starfighters didn’t appear to have realised that the ghost fleet wasn’t real, although that was a mixed blessing now. Invincible alone could have made a reasonable attempt to outrun the alien fleet, at least until they realised that the assault carrier was indeed alone, but that would mean abandoning the drones. And that would be far too revealing.
So will the absence of plasma fire and missile launches, he thought. Invincible’s crew had battened hundreds of missiles to their hull, ready to launch them into space when the time came, but they couldn’t match the ghost fleet’s presumed rate of fire. It wouldn’t take a genius to start wondering why the human fleet was abandoning its best chance to score a victory - or at least discourage pursuit. They’ll see through the illusion sooner or later.
“Captain,” Newcomb said. “The CSP is requesting permission to return and rearm.”
“Granted,” Stephen said. The starfighters would be necessary, when the enemy fleet slipped into range. They’d have to mount antishipping strikes to slow the ships down before they had a chance to get too close. “And have them launched again as soon as they are rearmed.”
We’re going to have to do something about the shortage of pilots on this ship, he added silently, as the range continued to close. Perhaps if we offer incentives to crewmen who practice flying starfighters ...
He sighed, inwardly. It wouldn’t be anything, but a very brief solution. A crewman who spent an hour or two in the simulators each week would be no match for a pilot who spent half his time in the simulators and the other half flying an actual starfighter. But there might be no choice. The Royal Navy hadn’t seen fit to assign additional pilots to his ship.
That will have to wait till we get back home, he thought, as the timer bleeped. It all depends on the marines now.
A moment later, the alien starships opened fire.
Chapter Thirty-One
If she’d been forced to be honest, Alice would have said that she hadn’t expected much from the Russians. The Russian commandos she’d met - and worked with - had been used to roughing it, simply because they didn’t have the weapons, equipment and technical support she’d taken for granted. She’d expected cabbage soup and a brief nap on a hard metal deck, if she didn’t have to fend off invitations from a handful of Russian crewmen who thought a female commando was either glamorous or a fraud. The Russians had a bad reputation, as little as it was deserved.
But instead, she’d been quite happy. The hold might not have been a five-star hotel, but it was more than suitable for the marines. She could have kicked herself for not bringing some MRE’s - the Russian ration bars had somehow managed to taste worse than the ones hidden away in storage compartments on Invincible - yet it could have been a great deal worse. The promised marathon drinking session was likely to be worse, although it would have to wait until they made it back to the ship. If, of course, they did make it back to the ship.
She checked her battlesuit carefully, then clambered into the suit and made her slow way towards the airlock. The Russian ship was stealthy, with a cloaking device that should have kept any prowling alien starships unaware of her presence, but she wasn’t designed to shoot troops into space. Alice rather suspected that any future mission into viral space, as the boffins were starting to call it, would include a marine transport ship, if the head sheds didn’t make the decision to simply blow up any alien world from orbit. Given how hard it was to eradicate the virus, Alice was inclined to agree. The bleeding hearts might call it genocide - and they might have a point - but the genocide had been committed long ago. There was nothing left on Alien-3, save for host-bodies and a swirling reserve of viral matter. It might be better for all concerned if the entire world was scorched back to bedrock.
A mere technological challenge, Alice told herself, as the airlock hissed open. There was a tiny delay as the Russians closed the inner hatch, then the outer hatch opened, revealing outer space in all its glory. We can cope with it.
Alice took a step forward, feeling her heart starting to pound as the sheer immensity of outer space battered at her mind, then gingerly thrust herself into the vacuum. The gravity field let go of her a second later. She allowed her suit’s sensors to lock onto the nearby stars, providing a precise location check, then waited for the remainder of the marines to join her. It felt like hours before all twenty of her fellows were floating in space, linked together by pinpoint laser beams. She gritted her teeth, all too aware of the risks. On a training exercise, any marine who hit his emergency beacon would be sure to be roundly mocked by his comrades; if, if course, he wasn’t unceremoniously ordered to retake the course from the beginning or simply booted out of training altogether. Here, triggering an emergency beacon would bring the aliens down on their heads. They’d have to hope that anyone who lost contact with the remainder of the platoon would be able to wait for pickup, rather than start screaming for help. A panic could - no, would - cost them everything.
They’ve been out in space before, Alice thought, although there was a certain comfort in knowing that you could scream for help if you wanted. They know the risks.
She checked the links one final time, then muttered an order. The suits oriented themselves, then triggered the gas jets. Compared to a standard EVA, let alone a starfighter, they were moving with glacial slowness, but - if they were lucky - it was that very slowness that would make them hard to detect. Any mass driver projectile would be coming in a great deal faster. The stealth coating they’d hastily applied to the suits was merely the icing on the cake. Alice sucked in her breath, then told herself to wait. The suit might be claustrophobia-inducing, but it wasn’t as if she was short of entertainment. No one would complain if she used her HUD to read, or watch movies, until they entered attack range. It would keep her distracted from the reality of her situation.
As if anything could do that, she thought. She was a tiny person inside a tiny suit, gliding slowly towards the largest structure in known space. Their last set of briefings hadn’t been particularly encouraging. Technically, the Hamilton Yards were bigger; practically, the Hamilton Yards weren’t a single massive structure. If we are spotted, we are dead.
The hour crept by slowly, even when she risked dropping into a semi-hypnotic trance to keep herself from worrying too much. It was impossible to focus on a movie, let alone the book she’d been reading in a bid to catch up before the author brought out the next one in his immensely popular series. Alice wasn't too amused with its depiction of boarding school life - she’d endured sadistic teachers without the benefit of learning magic - but it did have its good side. She just hoped the character survived long enough to learn from her constant string of mistakes. Alice was sure she would have wrapped up the plot by now and gone on to declare herself empress of the magical world.
The timer bleeped, pulling her back to reality. She tensed as the enemy shipyard came into view, visible even to the naked eye. A glowing haze of lights, blazing out into space; it seemed impossible, somehow, that they would not be detected. And yet ... and yet ...there was no sign that they had been detected. Her passive sensors were reporting that the main body of the alien fleet was leaving, heading straight for Tramline Four - and Invincible. She shivered, remembering that it had been her plan - no matter how many refinements had been added by the captain and his officers - and then told herself to forget it. There was nothing she could do for the carrier now. She had to complete her side of the mission or everything would be for nothing.
She checked the laser l
inks, then examined the alien security network in front of her. It was a complex web, a combination of active sensor pulses and electronic noise that might as well have been a solid fence. No missile or ballistic projectile could have slipped through without being detected and blown out of space by the automated weapons platforms, no matter how carefully it had been programmed. But she could see gaps in the defences. She braced herself, hoping that the gas jets would remain undetected, then slipped forward and glided through the first hole. She hardly dared to breathe as she passed close enough to one of the platforms to slap a nuke on it. It was almost a shame she didn’t dare waste one of the four tactical nukes she was carrying. The marines followed her. No messages were exchanged as they slipped into the shipyard. They didn’t dare risk being detected.
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