The Right of the Line

by Christopher Nuttall

  “They’ll pass the captured ship in seventy minutes,” Anisa told him. “And they’ll enter engagement range of us in ninety.”

  “The fleet will execute Breakaway in sixty,” Stephen said. “And signal the freighters. They are to start deploying missiles as planned.”

  “Aye, Commodore.”

  ***

  “We should have named the fucking ship,” Fellows muttered, as the alien fleet converged with the captured vessel. “I told you it was bad luck.”

  “And I told you that we wouldn’t be taking her home, whatever happened,” Tomas countered, dryly. If the virus opened fire now, they were dead. The odds of survival were precisely zero. “I see no point in renaming the ship now.”

  Li let out a harsh giggle. “What would we call her, anyway?”

  “The Fuck You?” Fellows snorted. “Or the Finger Up Your ...”

  “Enough,” Tomas said, quietly but firmly. He didn’t blame them for feeling tense, or for trying to deal with the tension by clowning around, but there were limits. They were staring at an alien fleet powerful enough to vaporise them with a single barrage. “Get ready to transmit the countersign ...”

  His breath caught in his throat as the alien ships came closer ... then swept past, without even trying to signal the captured ship. Tomas blinked in surprise, before deciding that the alien fleet had to be focused on the human formation. They couldn’t allow the human ships to get too close to the shipyard, whatever the cost. Tomas allowed himself a tight smile. They might just have made a serious mistake.

  “Keep us on our current course,” he ordered. “And be ready to open fire.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Fellows said.

  The alien shipyard drew closer. Tomas was unwillingly impressed by the sheer size of the installation, even though it looked alarmingly inefficient to him. There was too great a risk of a single hit doing immense damage, just as had happened in Alien-Five. But the virus probably hadn’t had time to modify its shipyards, not if it needed to supply its fleets at the same time. He wondered, as he studied the ever-growing list of potential targets, which industrial nodes had produced the missiles that had killed his friends. Knocking them out would be a serious blow to the virus’s ability to wage war.

  “We’re being hailed.” Li’s voice rose as she spoke. “I think. They’re lasing us, but I can’t read the message.”

  “Send the planned countersign,” Tomas ordered. The xenospecialists had done their best, but there was no way to guarantee their work would pass muster. The virus was just too alien. They weren’t even sure what they were saying, let alone that it was the right thing to say. “And be ready.”

  He took a breath. “All non-essential personnel to the shuttle.”

  “Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Hallows said.

  ***

  “Execute Breakaway,” Stephen ordered. The alien fleet had roared past the captured ship, keeping their eyes firmly fixed on Force One. “All ships are to reverse course at once.”

  “Aye, Commodore.”

  Stephen nodded, gripping his command chair. This was it. This was the moment of truth. If the enemy fleet pushed hard, they’d be able to bring him to battle before his ships could pick up speed and escape. If they pushed hard ... they’d have to, he told himself. The opportunity to slam their battleships right into his fleet carriers was not to be missed. They’d lose their entire fleet, at the cost of doing serious damage to his fleet. It would make it impossible for him to pull back and escape. And then it would be just a matter of time.

  Come on, he thought. I’m turning around and running for my life, like a bully who’s just discovered that his victim has an older brother. Come and beat the shit out of me.

  “The fleet’s acknowledged, sir,” Anisa reported. “They’re reversing course.”

  The range was closing sharply now. Stephen braced himself. If the virus sensed a trap, it would order its ships to reverse course too. The range would wobble, but remain open. The engagement would be inconclusive as long as Stephen stayed away from the shipyard’s starfighters and fixed defences. A human commander might have suspicions, but would he act on them? It wasn’t easy to pass up an opportunity to really drive the boot home. The hell of it was that a human commander might fall for the trick, where the virus might decide to be careful and break off.

  Particularly as it can presumably call on reinforcements from the remainder of infected space, Stephen thought. They can tolerate us dancing around the outer edge of the system, while they summon the remainder of their fleet to crush us.

  “They’re picking up speed,” Anisa said. “They must be redlining their drives.”

  “The chance to catch us on the hop is not to be missed,” Stephen said. A stern chase might be a long one, but only if the lead fleet had a chance to pick up enough speed. They might be run down before they managed to put enough distance between themselves and their opponents. “They can’t let us have time to run.”

  He smiled, coldly, as the range closed still further. The enemy fleet might be weak in starfighters - he guessed the virus had planned to deploy starfighters from the orbital defences, rather than the mobile fleet - but it still had enough firepower to inflict serious damage. It didn’t look as though the virus had realised - yet - most of the ships were decoys. That wouldn’t last long ...

  “Bring the missiles online,” he ordered. “Prepare to fire.”

  The display sparkled with red lights. The virus’s ships had opened fire. Stephen snapped out a pair of orders as the missiles picked up speed. The virus had blundered ... no, it hadn’t blundered. It would know the decoys were nothing more than sensor ghosts as soon as the decoys failed to open fire. The lack of point defence would tell the virus everything it needed to know. And he didn’t dare gamble and keep all of his ships from opening fire. He was short of hulls as it was.

  “Fire the missiles,” he ordered.

  Green icons flared to life on the display. The freighters had unloaded the missiles into space, a desperation manoeuvre that would never have been considered before the virus introduced the human race to high-intensity missile duels. The sheer cost of so many missiles was daunting, even though twelve nations had contributed. But, for the first time, the human race was throwing a wall of missiles at an alien opponent. He thought he saw, just for a second, the alien ships flinch. Their point defence was prepped for starfighters, not missiles.

  And the ECM drones probably don’t help, Stephen thought. He’d fired nearly a thousand missiles, but the ECM made it look as if he’d fired hundreds of thousands of missiles. The virus would know that most of them were fakes, yet how could they tell the difference? The sheer weight of fire alone would guarantee that some of them would get through the point defence and strike home. They came too close and now they don’t even have time to reverse course and escape.

  “Launch starfighters,” he ordered. There was no point in trying to maintain the illusion any longer. “All ships are to continue on their current course.”

  “Aye, Commodore.”

  ***

  “I don’t think they believed us,” Li said. Her voice was starting to shake. “They’re lasing us again. I can’t read the message.”

  “I’m getting targeting sensors,” Fellows said. “They’re bringing their weapons to bear on us.”

  Which is pretty much their way of saying ‘stop or I’ll shoot,’ Tomas thought. They won’t let us come any closer.

  He keyed his console, authorising the missiles to launch. “Open fire,” he snapped. “I say again, open fire!”

  He took a breath as the first missiles blasted out of their launch tubes. “Switch to auto, then run for the shuttle,” he added, sharply. The ship would keep firing until she was destroyed. “Abandon ship!”

  The crew jumped and ran, hurrying down to the airlock. Tomas followed, knowing it was unlikely they’d make it out. The shuttle had been borrowed from the marines, but it wasn’t that stealthy. Every ship and weapons platform within range wou
ld be looking for them ...

  A hammer smashed into the ship. The lights blinked out. Moments later, the gravity failed too.

  We hurt them, Tomas thought, as he crashed against a bulkhead. The suit took most of the impact, but his arm still ached. They know we hurt them ...

  Seven missiles slammed into the captured ship’s hull and exploded. There were no survivors.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Stephen allowed himself a cold smile as the alien fleet writhed under his fire.

  It felt good, so good, to finally and unambiguously land a blow on an alien fleet. A battleship fell out of formation, streaming atmosphere and plasma as she fought for life; another seemed unhurt, a moment before she exploded with staggering force. Four destroyers mounted a valiant defence of a carrier, only to be blasted out of the way before the remaining missiles slammed into the carrier. She exploded, vanishing from the display. Stephen watched, grimly, as another battleship staggered but kept coming anyway. The virus had designed her well.

  “Incoming fire,” Anisa warned. “They’re targeting the live ships.”

  “Adjust our point defence to match,” Stephen ordered. The virus was distracted. If they were lucky, they could keep it distracted long enough to escape. Not, he supposed, that it mattered. Enemy One was no longer in a position to cover the planet. “And keep the fleet moving.”

  “Aye, sir,” Anisa said.

  Stephen tapped his console, pulling up the live feed from the recon probes near the shipyard. The captured vessel had been destroyed - it looked as if she’d gone down with all hands - but she’d done well. A dozen missiles had slammed into the shipyard and exploded, inflicting a vast amount of damage; dozens of stealth projectiles and mines had devastated the remainder of the alien facility. It hadn’t been as complete a sweep as Stephen would have liked, but it would put a serious crimp in the virus’s ability to resupply and rebuild its fleets. God alone knew how long it would take to recover.

  A dull shudder ran through the ship as an enemy missile scored a hit. Stephen glanced at the display, then forced himself to put his concern aside. Newcomb was in command of the ship. Damage control was his responsibility, not Stephen’s. The fleet was picking up speed rapidly, even as the alien ships seemed torn between continuing the pursuit and falling back on the shipyard. Stephen hoped it would take them a good, long while to decide. The more space he managed to put between their fleet and his, the better.

  And Force Two should be going on the offensive right about now, he told himself, firmly. That should make life harder for the bastards.

  ***

  Captain Danial Nicolson liked to think of himself as a simple soul. He disliked elegant plans and concepts, if only because - in his experience - there were always too many things that could go wrong. War was a democracy in the truest possible sense. The enemy - human or alien - always got a vote. Danial preferred brute force, if only because it made it harder for anyone to try any clever tricks. God was on the side of the big guns, in the long run. Most of the victories claimed by the underdogs rarely lasted long.

  “Captain,” his tactical officer said. “We’re coming up on Point Hammer.”

  “Lock weapons on target,” Danial grunted. Captain - no, Commodore - Shields had come up with a good plan, but it fell to Danial and the remainder of the battleships to carry it out. “Fire on my command.”

  He studied the display for a long moment, firmly convinced that an irresistible force was about to meet an immovable opponent. USS Alaska and her sisters had been crammed with firepower - everything from missile tubes and plasma cannons to mass drivers and railguns - but he had no illusions about their mission. Alien-One was surrounded by defences, from orbital battlestations to automated weapons platforms. Danial wouldn’t have cared to try to force his way into orbit, not if he had every battleship humanity had produced under his command. Thankfully, he had a different set of orders.

  The display flashed red. The tactical officer swore. “They have us!”

  “As planned,” Danial said. He hadn’t expected to get so close before the virus noticed him and his ships. Captain Shields might have drawn the virus’s mobile units away - Danial had tracked them heading for the shipyard - but the rest of the defences would have gone on alert. “Open fire as planned. I say again, open fire as planned.”

  The display flared with green and blue icons as the battleships opened fire. Danial leaned forward, watching with interest as missiles and mass driver projectiles roared towards the orbital defences ... and the planet underneath. His name was going to go down in the history books, although perhaps for the wrong reasons. No one had ever bombarded a planet before, not with anything larger than a KEW projectile. The missiles and mass driver projectiles were going to inflict one hell of a lot of damage. God knew there would be protests back home when the sheer magnitude of the devastation hit the media.

  “The enemy stations are launching starfighters,” the tactical officer reported. “They’ll be on us in five minutes.”

  “Point defence to full alert, engage when ready,” Danial ordered. He’d kept the majority of the carriers back, pointing out that they’d just increase the odds of detection. He didn't think he’d made a mistake - starfighters were of limited value against battleships - but it was still going to cost him. “And continue firing.”

  “Aye, sir,” the tactical officer said. “The first projectiles are impacting ... now.”

  Danial watched, awed, as the mass driver projectiles slammed into the planet. They were little threat to a starship, which could evade incoming projectiles unless it had already been battered into a pulp, but a far more significant threat to orbital battlestations and planets. The projectiles crashed into the orbital towers, the sheer force of impact doing more damage than a dozen nuclear warheads. Danial felt his blood turn to ice as the first tower shattered, chunks of debris flying into space or crashing down to the surface. He’d watched horror movies about the fall of Earth’s orbital towers, but this was real. Countless lives were about to be lost.

  Infected lives, he reminded himself, stiffly. We’re doing them a favour.

  The devastation spread rapidly as chunk after chunk of debris hit the surface, the force of the impact throwing clouds of dust and water vapour into the planet’s atmosphere. Nuclear winter was a very real possibility, threatening to kill anyone who survived the first impacts and reached safety. Danial sucked in his breath as the second tower started to crumble, the third somehow surviving a direct hit that should have sent it crashing to the ground. It was hard to grasp the true scale of the devastation, to realise what they’d done to the alien world. Nothing, not even the Bombardment of Earth, came close.

  We might have sentenced every last living thing on the surface to death, he thought.

  He pulled back as the first of the alien starfighters roared into his point defence envelope, fighting with a desperation that was almost human. The host-bodies showed no concern for their lives, or for those of their fellows; they pressed the offensive with a determination that awed him. Hundreds fell, swatted out of space; hundreds remained to fire torpedoes into his armour or simply ram themselves into his hull. The damage mounted rapidly, even though none of his ships were crippled. The alien fighters were sacrificing themselves to wear him down.

  “We’ve hit the orbital nodes pretty hard, sir,” the tactical officer said. “There isn’t much left.”

  “It looks that way,” Danial agreed. He had orders not to carry the offense too far, not when he might be caught against the planet and destroyed. But the enemy mobile units were destroyed. “Fire one last round against the survivors, then prepare to retreat.”

  “Aye, sir,” the tactical officer said.

  Danial nodded to himself, then took one last look at Alien-One. The planet was going dark, massive clouds of dust forming in the upper atmosphere. His sensors were reporting fires all over the surface, fires on a scale that dwarfed the forest fire he’d been lucky to escape as a small boy. The pl
anet’s forests were burning down, the planet’s industrial base was dying ... there were even hints that nuclear reactors were melting down. It was hard to believe that anything could live through the nightmare he’d unleashed. Even the virus would find it difficult to survive if all the host-bodies died out.

  But this won’t be the end, he thought, grimly. And it may try and do the same to Earth - and every other human world within reach.

  “The fleet is to retreat,” he ordered. It was tempting to close further, to finish the job, but they’d completed their mission. There was nothing to be gained by risking the fleet - and possibly undoing their victory - when they could pick up their winnings and go home, leaving the virus to clean up the mess. “I say again, all ships are to retreat.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  ***