Para Bellum

by Christopher Nuttall

  Up close, the structure was almost unimaginably huge. It was a giant spider-web, perhaps one that had been built in zero-gravity. There was little rhyme or reason to its design, as far as she could tell. It looked as if the aliens had slapped shipyard components together at random, with only a handful of concessions to efficiency. The giant vessel slips themselves were at the bottom, allowing the ships to be ejected rapidly once they were completed. She wondered, morbidly, if the aliens produced everything on site. A human designer would never have accepted the risk - a shipyard slip was actually the least important part of the design - but an alien might have other ideas. Perhaps they’d put efficiency, or their concept of efficiency, ahead of everything else.

  And they have good reason to put faith in their defences, she thought. The virus probably didn’t even have the concept of independent action, let alone tiny strike teams that could operate without orders from their superiors. A conventional attack would be immensely costly even if it succeeded.

  She glided towards the nearest structure and landed, neatly, on the metal hull. It was dotted with struts and devices, none of which seemed to be active sensor nodes. She ducked down as the remainder of the marines joined her, linking their suits together physically. There was no point in taking the risk of using laser links here, even though - theoretically - they were completely undetectable. The slightest hint of electromagnetic disruption might give them away.

  “I’ll hit here,” she said, once the suits had compared notes and built up a complete image of the shipyard. “Glen, you’re with me. Everyone else, here are your assignments.”

  She looked down at the metal below her boots, wondering if it was starship-grade armour or something lighter, something they could cut through with their tools. She was tempted to test their theory about using scent to mark them as infected host-bodies - they’d brought the first bottles along, just in case - but it was too great a risk. She had no doubt that the virus would pervade the air inside the shipyard. And, with no natural light within the shipyard, it would be able to spread everywhere. It would notice a handful of host-bodies that weren’t responding to its commands and react, somehow. She doubted they’d enjoy its reaction.

  “Let’s move,” she said.

  The virus was still redeploying its forces, she noted as they crawled down the structure towards the shipyard slips. Tiny craft - she assumed they were worker bees - were taking up position at the edge of the perimeter, ready to intercept any ballistic projectiles that might happen to come screaming out of the dead night of space. She had to admit that the virus wasn’t doing a bad job of preparing for attack, even though all its preparations were focused on the wrong threat. A conventional attack might have been a far bigger disaster than they’d assumed.

  Hammersmith touched her back, his suit’s systems linking to hers. “Look down there,” he said. “My sensors say it’s a production node.”

  Alice was tempted to agree. The virus seemed to be definitely producing everything on site. She felt a hot flicker of contempt as they reached the node, then found a convenient place to place the first nuke. If they were right, it would do a great deal of damage; if they were wrong, it would still disrupt operations for weeks or months to come. The virus would have to spend a great deal of time looking for any other surprises the marines might have left behind. She grinned behind her helmet as they slipped down the strut, heading for the shipyard. The battleship taking shape below them, insofar as the term had any meaning in the alien structure, would never leave its slip. It would certainly never have a chance to meet human ships in war. She carefully selected and primed the second nuke as they reached the open hull, placing it neatly within the giant ship. The interior armour might save the ship from complete destruction - up close, she was starting to think that the virus had made faster progress than she’d assumed - but it would still take a long time for them to get the ship online. Hopefully, the war would be over before the battleship could take flight.

  Assuming they don’t scrap her and start again, she thought, as they started to make their way back up the strut. We have to hope they don’t have many more of these places.

  She shivered at the thought, then froze as she spotted movement making its way down the strut. Aliens? Or humans? They looked humanoid, but that proved nothing. Three of the races the virus was known to have overwhelmed were humanoid. She watched, silently confirming that they weren't wearing battlesuits, then led Hammersmith into the nearest hiding place and waited. Normally, she would have jumped any guards they couldn't evade - she’d actually stolen a uniform she’d taken from a guard she’d knocked out and used it to get into a secure area - but she doubted she could make it work on the alien structure. God knew that putting on a suit full of viral matter - active viral matter - would be incredibly stupid, even if she did smell right. The virus would infect her again and that would be the end.

  Hammersmith tapped her arm. Alice followed his gaze and frowned. Two more figures were working their way towards them. A security patrol? Had they been rumbled? Or was it just a coincidence? The aliens didn’t look armed, although that proved nothing. Their suits could have enough embedded weapons to fight a small war. She looked at Hammersmith, holding up her fingers to signal to him. They had to move, now. She led the way around the strut, moving from shadow to shadow as they tried to evade contact. The suits were hard to see, in the darkness, but the human eye was attracted to movement. The alien eyes might be the same. She tried to think of a plan as they reached the lower half of the production node and continued to head upwards. Were they being chased?

  They rounded a corner - and walked straight into another pair of aliens. Alice didn’t hesitate; she lunged forward, her knife already protruding from her suit, and stabbed the lead alien in the chest. The monofilament blade slid through its suit like a knife through butter, suggesting that the aliens hadn't been watching for them. Hammersmith killed the second, pushing the body against the metal hull. Thankfully, the aliens were wearing magnetic boots. Alice pushed hers into a convenient hiding place, then led the way around the structure. If they were lucky, they might just be able to find a place to stash the other two nukes before they linked up with the remainder of the marines.

  Unless one of them got caught, Alice thought. She would have flooded the entire structure with searchers, if she’d discovered aliens poking around her shipyard, but the virus might have different ideas. It might already have infected a captured marine and was waiting patiently for answers. At least the rest of us would have a chance to escape.

  She allowed herself a moment of relief as they finally reached the RV point and counted heads. She’d brought twenty marines to the party; twenty marines greeted her, their faces hidden behind their helmets. She checked their suit telemetry before she relaxed completely, knowing that the suits would hide any signs of physical distress. Or, for that matter, someone else who might have knocked out a marine and taken their suit for themselves. She had her doubts about the virus’s ability to slip a ringer into their party, but she knew better than to assume it couldn’t. Thankfully, the marines were alive and well.

  “Time to go,” she said. The nukes were already counting down to detonation, but - if someone stumbled across them - they’d detonate ahead of time. “Let’s move.”

  She felt uniquely vulnerable as she launched herself back into space, gliding out towards the lurking Russian ship. There were too many worker bees flying around for her peace of mind, even if they were still focusing on threats from the ghost fleet. Invincible had planned to hurl projectiles towards the shipyard, but it was starting to look as though they’d either failed to get anything through the enemy ships or that they were being forced to reserve all their weapons for their own defence. She steadfastly refused to think about the other possibilities as she glided out of the shipyard, careful to leave with as much care as they’d entered. The last thing she wanted was to alert the aliens to her presence, particularly now. One solid blow from a hammer would be enough
to put a tactical nuke out of commission.

  They passed through the outer edge of the defence line without incident, much to her relief. She pulled up the timer as soon as they were clear, watching the remaining seconds ticking away. The aliens would have no idea what had happened - she hoped - but they were about to know they’d been kissed. Her lips curved into a smile as the first nuke detonated, followed rapidly by the others. The shipyard disintegrated in a blaze of light. She felt her smile grow wider as she realised the aliens must have stored dangerous - and explosive - materials within the structure. There was a perfectly good reason most human shipyards were spread out. It kept a disaster in one slip from spreading to the rest.

  Success, she gloated. It didn’t matter if they were killed now. They’d taken part in an operation that would be remembered as long as the Royal Marines endured. Their names would go down in the record books, along with the marines who’d fought in wars from the very beginning. Everyone will remember us now.

  She chuckled, alone in the darkness of space, and then turned her attention back to her HUD, reopening her book until they reached the RV point. There was nothing else to do. The mission was over. The mission was over and it had been a complete success. And it had been her idea. She’d like to see anyone try to keep her off the active duty roster now she’d planned and carried out the greatest covert operation since the commando raid on Tehran, back in 2056.

  And if they try, she thought, they won’t have a hope. How can they question my loyalty after this?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Captain, the enemy ships have opened fire,” Lieutenant-Commander David Arthur reported, grimly. “They’re firing long-range missiles.”

  Well, that answers that question, Stephen thought. We know they have long-range missiles now.

  “Stand by point defence,” he ordered. “Prepare to engage.”

  He cursed under his breath, savagely. The situation had just changed again, changed beyond repair. The ghost fleet would be exposed within minutes, if it hadn’t been exposed already by the alien starfighters. The absence of any point defence fire from the drones would be all too revealing. It didn’t matter, in the end, what had happened in the alien shipyard, if the plan had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams or failed spectacularly. He had no choice. It was time to run.

  “Tactical, disperse the ghost fleet to absorb as many of the incoming missiles as possible,” he ordered, coolly. It was unlikely the enemy would be able to retarget their missiles - the time delay between the launchers and the missiles themselves was increasing with every second - but it was well to try to maintain the illusion as long as possible. The virus would certainly have a second shot at Invincible when it realised that she was the only real capital ship in the ghost fleet. “Helm, ramp up our speed to full emergency power.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Lieutenant-Commander David Arthur said.

  “Aye, Captain,” Lieutenant Sonia Michelle echoed him. She sounded nervous. Full emergency power would give them their best - their only - chance to put enough distance between themselves and the enemy to slip into cloak and vanish, but it would put a lot of wear and tear on the drives. If they lost more than a handful of drive nodes, their speed would fall faster than the government’s approval ratings. “Full emergency power, aye.”

  Stephen nodded as his ship quivered around him. The enemy missiles didn’t appear to be any faster than humanity’s - it was good to know that he’d trained his crews to face far more dangerous threats - but they didn’t look as if they were going to lose power and go ballistic before they entered his engagement envelope. He watched the projections as the computers sought to determine which, if any, missiles were targeted on Invincible herself. It looked, very much, as if the aliens had decided to try to cripple as many ships as possible, rather than simply blow them out of space. It would give them their best chance at taking one or more of the ships intact.

  And then they infect the crews, he thought, as the lines started to converge. Four missiles were aimed at Invincible, nowhere near enough to break through her point defences ... but it didn’t matter. There were enough of them to reveal that Invincible alone had point defence, which would draw enemy fire like moths to flame. A long-range battering match might work in Stephen’s favour, but - as the range closed - his ship’s defences would steadily be ground down to powder. And then they try to board us.

  “Engage the missiles with point defence as soon as they enter engagement range,” he ordered, grimly. On the display, the enemy were launching another wave of starfighters. They had to have realised that most of the ghost fleet wasn’t real. The absence of a far larger CSP - and antishipping strikes - was a dead giveaway. “We’ll have to sacrifice the drones.”

  He smiled, humourlessly. The beancounters were going to be pissed. He’d launched over a hundred expensive drones into space, including some of the most advanced decoy systems in the navy’s arsenal. Collectively, they’d probably cost the Royal Navy more than Invincible herself. There were probably people back home stupid enough to believe that he could have saved the drones at the cost of his ship, even though he’d never have been able to return the drones to the homeworld. It was the sort of dumb idea that could only come from someone with no experience in the real world. Thankfully, the Admiralty generally insisted that flag officers had to have spent some time on a bridge before they were allowed to direct operations.

  Which is probably why we suffered so badly during the First Interstellar War, he thought, sourly. No one had any real experience of interstellar warfighting because no one had any opportunity to get any experience.

  “Missiles entering engagement range in ten seconds,” Arthur said. “Long-range scans indicate that seven missiles have gone ballistic.”

  “Track them anyway,” Stephen ordered. It was unlikely that the burnt-out missiles would pose any threat, but it wouldn’t be the first time the virus had surprised him. Admiral Webster’s latest generation multistage missiles were designed to burn out, or at least to give the impression that they’d burnt out, before the next stage activated. The virus was firing at extreme range, but it could have scaled up the concept enough to bring the ghost fleet well within its engagement envelope. “And engage them if they come too close.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Arthur said. “Point defence engaging ... now.”

  Stephen leaned forward as the point defence opened fire, filling space with deadly plasma bolts. Three of the four missiles vanished within the first ten seconds, picked off effortlessly; the fourth missile tried to evade, just for a handful of seconds, before it too was picked off. It would be a long time before anything less than a full salvo of missiles would pose any serious threat to a capital ship, he thought, but that wasn’t the problem. The enemy didn’t have to punch through his defences on the first try to know they’d stumbled across the human command ship. And if they threw another salvo like that ...

  He gritted his teeth, torn between grim amusement and growing concern as the enemy missiles expended themselves on the decoy drones. He didn’t give a damn about penny-pinching by REMFs who put hardware - expensive hardware, to be fair - ahead of his crew, but every lost drone weakened the illusion still further. He’d had the drones tipped with nuclear warheads, stripping his arsenal to the bone, in hopes of convincing the virus that it actually had killed a number of capital ships, yet he doubted that particular illusion would last for long. A human enemy would want to believe that it hadn’t expended a vast number of very expensive missiles for nothing. The virus might be more sceptical of exaggerated kill claims.

  And if we were fighting a human enemy, he thought with a flicker of amusement, we’d be delighted that we’d caused them to waste so many missiles.

  “Captain, they’ve taken out forty-seven drones,” Lieutenant Alison Adams said. The sensor officer sounded grim. “We’ve lost a third of the ghost fleet. The remainder probably look more like sensor ghosts now.”

  “Understood,” Stephen said. The jammers
were doing their best to confuse the issue, but he’d lost a handful of jammers too. It wouldn’t be long before the illusion was completely shattered, if it hadn’t been shattered already. “Continue to ...”

  “Captain, they’ve launched another spread of missiles,” Arthur snapped. He wouldn’t have interrupted if it hadn’t been urgent. “They’re targeted on us!”

  Stephen nodded, shortly. The illusion was gone, then. “Reprogram the drones to decoy as many missiles as possible away from us,” he ordered. He didn’t hold out much hope, but there was no point in trying to preserve the remaining drones. Even if he had time to recover and refurbish them, he was damned if he was slowing down. “And stand by point defence.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Arthur said.

  “Their timing is good,” Newcomb muttered, through the intercom. “Their starfighters will be on us shortly after the missiles.”

  Stephen nodded, curtly. It looked as if the first salvo - and his mind boggled at the thought of expending so many long-range missiles when the odds of scoring a hit were so low - had been intended to give the enemy a chance to pick out the real ships from the decoys. The idea of any human officer signing off on such a strike, unless fuelled by utter desperation, was absurd; the virus, it seemed, had taken the cost in stride. The nasty part of his mind wondered if he shouldn’t propose that strategy to the Admiralty anyway, in the hopes of the beancounters having a collective heart attack. They wouldn’t be able to interfere with the military’s operations any longer ...