Outside Context Problem: Book 03 - The Slightest Hope of Victory

by Christopher Nuttall

  He smiled, darkly. The aliens had lost one of their ships near Washington. Now ... another was coming. And if it didn't meet the same fate, humanity was about to face the wrath of aliens with nothing more to lose.

  ***

  “Don’t go wandering off,” Brad McIntyre said. “Most of the people here don’t trust you.”

  Karen nodded, grimly. The shooting was dying down as the resistance occupied the Green Zone, dragging everyone out of hiding as they searched the collaborator buildings. Everyone, no matter who they were or what they had done, was secured and dumped on the White House Lawn and guarded by heavily-armed soldiers. The guards were there to protect the prisoners as well as guard them, Karen saw. Many of their former servants had taken the opportunity for some revenge as the defences crumbled.

  She caught sight of Jessica, one of Jasmine’s friends, and ran over to her, dragging a reluctant SEAL in her wake. The maid was naked and badly bruised, her hands tied behind her back with a plastic tie. Jessica looked up at Karen, then lowered her eyes.

  “She’s dead,” she said, quietly.

  Karen didn't have to ask who she meant. Jasmine had volunteered to do something to help the resistance, something more direct than spying on the collaborators. Whatever it was, she’d died, caught up in the fighting as the resistance stormed the complex. Karen wished she’d been there, that she had been able to do something to help, but it was futile. She hadn't even seen her friend and lover die.

  “I’m sorry,” McIntyre said, softly.

  Karen slowly began to cry, pressing her face into his chest for what comfort she could snatch from him. Countless men and women had died since the aliens had arrived; on that scale, Jasmine’s death was meaningless. But she’d been a friend and comforter and ... somehow, it brought all of the death into perspective. Jasmine had deserved so much better than to die, her death not even noticed until afterwards ...

  It wasn't over. It would never be over, no matter what happened in the future, no matter if the United States won back its independence from the aliens. She would bear the scars for the rest of her life, as would the entire country. The story never really ended with a victory parade and the hero getting the girl. In its wake, there would be countless broken lives and an entire society struggling to survive and rebuild itself.

  And they want to kill me, she thought, bitterly. Perhaps I should let them.

  “Come on,” McIntyre said, pulling her away. “There’s work to do elsewhere.”

  ***

  “We’ve got them bang to rights, Captain,” the weapons officer said. “They’re crawling towards the States, right over our heads.”

  We’ve got them right where we want them, Captain O’Bryan thought, remembering Chesty Puller’s famous words. But then, Chesty had never had to face an alien ship that was over ten kilometres in diameter. How lucky he’d been to only have to face the Japanese ... and how lucky the United States had been, facing terrorists and insurgents after 9/11. He rather missed Osama now.

  After dropping off the President, USS Mississippi had sailed northwards to pick up some specialised warheads from Britain, then headed back towards the Atlantic Coast. Their orders had been simple; they were to lurk near the United States until they received a specific signal, then engage any alien targets with extreme prejudice. The orders hadn't mentioned that they would be engaging one of the giant alien ships, but someone had clearly had an idea of what to expect. They’d given the submarine missile warheads that were modified versions of the warhead that had brought one of the city-sized ships down over Washington.

  They can't be planning to fly back over land, he thought, as he peered at the image of the alien craft. It was a nightmare right out of science-fiction, perhaps from a movie more interested in special effects than realism. Or do they think that they don’t have a choice?

  He considered the best way to engage the alien craft quickly, running through possibilities in his mind. Normally, they would launch their cruise missiles well out of enemy range, but that wasn't a possibility here. Launching from directly under the alien craft was the most likely tactic to ensure a hit, yet that would bring the craft down on top of the submarine ...

  “Prepare to fire,” he ordered. The alien craft was still inching westwards. If the missiles hit, the submarine would have a chance to escape. “Lock weapons on target.”

  “Using cruise missiles as antiaircraft weapons,” the weapons officer said. At least without nuclear tips they didn't have to go through the rigmarole of verifying everything. “It goes against the grain, Captain.”

  O’Bryan smiled. There had been proposals to use nuclear weapons as antiaircraft missiles, using airbursts to sweep enemy aircraft out of the sky, but they’d never actually been developed as far as he knew. NATO had been confident of retaining control over the air during the Cold War, although the Russians might well have considered the weapons worth developing. Now, there would be no time to prepare America’s final nuclear weapons for airbursts.

  “Fire,” he ordered.

  The submarine shook as the first missile blasted out of the tubes. They’d had to do some heavy reprogramming to prepare the missiles for the operation; if half of what he’d heard about Russian missiles was true, they would never have been able to reprogram them successfully. It wasn’t normal to fire at a target so close to the submarine, not with the latest developments in cruise missiles. Everyone had thought that dogfighting and battleship duels were outdated until the aliens had taught them differently.

  He gritted his teeth as he watched the missiles rising up towards their target, which was already spitting plasma fire towards them. Whoever was in command of the alien ship had the reactions of a cat! There was no point in trying to run, he knew; if the alien fighters came after them, there was no way they could escape in time. He caught his breath as two of the missiles vanished, then a third slammed right into the alien craft’s drive fields and detonated. Brilliant white light blazed out high overhead and the viewscreen darkened automatically.

  When it cleared, he saw the alien craft sinking towards the water. For a moment, he forgot that it was an enemy craft, that its crew were bent on the enslavement of humanity ... all that mattered was that the aliens were struggling desperately to save their stricken craft. It was falling faster now, he saw, as the last remnants of the drive field faded away to nothingness ...

  “All hands, brace for shockwaves,” he ordered. “I say again, brace ...”

  They’d cleared for depth charges, although if the alien craft came down hard the tidal waves would massively increase the pressure on the hull. He couldn't recall if a submarine had been trapped under a tidal wave before ... moments later, the alien craft hit the water. The submarine’s hull creaked under the sudden strain, rolling as if they were floating on the surface of the water ... and then the sound just faded away.

  “I think we made it, Captain,” the weapons officer said.

  O’Bryan peered through the periscope towards the alien craft. It was large enough to float, he saw, at least for a short period. He wasn't sure, but it sure as hell looked like the giant ship was slowly sinking under the waves. Countless aliens were swarming over the hull, trying to escape the water that had to be rushing through the interior of the ship. If their hull integrity had been breached ... it wouldn't be long before the entire ship was lost forever.

  “Sir,” the XO said, “should we try and take on survivors?”

  O’Bryan hesitated. It would be the decent thing to do – and he wouldn't hesitate to pick up Russian and Chinese sailors in wartime, at least if there was no risk to his boat. But there were just too many aliens to save ...

  “No,” he said. “All we can do is watch.”

  ***

  “News just in, Mr. President,” Lieutenant Danielle Grove said. “The Mississippi just wasted another alien city-ship!”

  The President nodded, staring towards the east. Smoke had been seen in the distance all day where the giant alien craft had been sh
ot down. Indeed, Pepper had been on the verge of ordering the castle evacuated before they’d confirmed that they were in no immediate danger from earthquakes or vengeful alien warriors. Right now, the fighting in America seemed to have destroyed the collaborator government, but the rest of the aliens were still a threat.

  It was nearly an hour before the second message came in from London. “We picked up a message from the remainder of the alien leadership,” the Prime Minister said. “They want to talk.”

  Pepper let out a rebel yell and gave the President a hug. “I think we won,” she said, as she swung him around. “We ...”

  The radio buzzed. “Mr. President,” Alex Midgard’s voice said, “we have a situation.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  RAF Marham, UK/Washington DC, USA/Earth Orbit

  Day 254

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

  Philip removed his flight helmet as he stared down at the radio. The flight back to RAF Marham had been straightforward after the alien command ship had been downed; the aliens didn't even try to harass the returning pilots as they retreated from the combat zone. Even if the rest of the operation hadn’t worked, they were still clearly stunned by the sudden loss of the command ship. The RAF ground crewmen had greeted the pilots as heroes when they’d landed and marched into the squadron mess. Monique had even given him a deep kiss as soon as she’d seen him.

  “I wish I was,” Midgard said. “But one of the bastards is still alive.”

  “I see,” Philip said. He gritted his teeth, hearing the sounds of revelry drifting through from the next room. Judging by the sounds, half of his pilots had already had too much to drink. “Tell me everything.”

  “The alien rebels moved in and started to take over as soon as we downed the two Command Ships,” Midgard explained. He’d taken over communications duties with the alien rebels once Philip had been returned to active duty and sent to Britain. “They took most of the command authority without problems, but one of the Rogue Leaders is still holed up on the mothership.”

  Philip winced. The unmodified leader caste aliens could dominate the other castes, but the Rogue Leaders could induce unquestioning obedience ... and if one of them was on the mothership, it would be extremely difficult for the alien rebels to wrinkle him out. They could destroy a facility on the planet’s surface, if necessary, but destroying the mothership would send millions of tons of debris showering down upon Earth. The entire planetary biosphere might be ruined.

  “So far, he doesn’t have control of the ship’s functions, but he seems to be working on taking them,” Midgard continued. “Once he has the drive ...”

  He didn't need to spell it out. The mothership might be exhausted, no longer capable of leaving planetary orbit, but there was enough power left in the drive to send the colossal craft spiralling in towards Earth. Once it hit the planet ... the impact would do colossal damage, worse than any asteroid strike. The human race might be destroyed along with the remaining aliens on the surface.

  Philip swallowed, hard. “How do we go after him?”

  “The alien rebels are sending ships,” Midgard said. “But they can't send any of their own warriors.”

  “Of course not,” Philip agreed. Sending alien warriors to face the Rogue Leaders would be effectively sending them reinforcements. The warriors would simply be talked into switching sides. “Who do we have on hand?”

  “You, resistance fighters from Washington and whatever the British can scrape up,” Midgard said. “London’s willing to help, but most of the British military is deployed to face the aliens, not to jump on a flying saucer and head into orbit. Besides, there aren't many people who have been to orbit.”

  “I’m a pilot, not a commando,” Philip pointed out.

  “But you have experience onboard an alien starship, which is more than can be said for most people,” Midgard said. “Grab your gear; the alien craft will be with you shortly.”

  “Understood,” Philip said. He looked over at the wall, where he could hear the faint strains of someone playing the piano in the squadron mess. They thought they’d won the war and he couldn't bring himself to disillusion them. “I’ll be waiting.”

  ***

  “This is going to be fun,” Nicolas muttered, as he issued orders. Washington was a mess, slipping into chaos as people realised that the collaborators were no longer in charge ... and he was still required to send a detachment of troops to orbit. “Sergeant, round me up some volunteers from the teams for an incredibly dangerous mission.”

  Sergeant McCoy nodded and headed off to where the soldiers were trying to pull security or guard prisoners, leaving Nicolas to think fast. A handful of warehouses had been secured and would serve as makeshift prisoner holding facilities; the alien POW camps around Washington had been so badly damaged that they wouldn't be usable as prison camps without some heavy repair work. After that ... the plan had been to either don uniforms and start reminding people of the government’s existence or fade back into the surrounding area. That plan had just been smashed into a million pieces.

  “Spread the word,” he ordered, keying his radio. They could use them safely now, at least for the moment. “Any alien craft entering the area are not to be engaged unless they fire first; I say again, any alien craft entering the area are not to be engaged unless they fire first.”

  He gritted his teeth at the outbreak of incomprehension over the airwaves. Not that he could really blame the doubters, he supposed. Allowing even one of the smaller alien craft into firing range was asking for trouble. They had all seen bolts of blue-white light searing down from the sky to rip resistance positions apart. But there was no other way to get to orbit. The last thing they needed was a friendly alien craft shot down over Washington.

  And besides, most of them don’t know that there’s any such thing as a friendly alien, he thought grimly. Quite apart from the Rogue Leaders, a number of warriors and workers had fought to the death rather than allow the humans to take them prisoner. They will engage them all, given a chance.

  Sergeant McCoy returned with a small army of volunteers. Nicolas surveyed them quickly, noting that they’d all had experience with facing the aliens at close quarters. Even now, months after the war had begun, there were resistance fighters who had never actually seen an alien and might freeze if confronted by a creature who was quite literally not of this Earth.

  “All right, listen up,” he said. “The war is almost over, but we have one more battle to fight.”

  He explained briefly about the alien rebels – and the Rogue Leaders. There was no point in keeping it secret any longer, not when the remaining Rogue Leader would be perfectly aware of their rebellion. And the human race needed to know – now – that there were good aliens mixed up with the bad. Whatever guilt most humans might feel at the thought of mass slaughter of their fellow human beings might not apply to aliens. The war might be needlessly prolonged.

  “Holy shit, sir,” Edward Tanaka said, finally. He’d been in Antarctica, where they’d seen just what the Rogue Leaders had done to the humans they’d abducted over the years. “Are you sure?”

  “It was a set of alien rebels who freed me and gave us the key to saving the Walking Dead,” Nicolas said, briskly. They’d tried to take the Walking Dead in Washington alive, but it hadn't been easy. Most of them had fought fanatically and had to be shot down rather than taken captive. “If it wasn't for them, we wouldn't have gotten back into Washington. Now they need our help.”

  Dudley looked doubtful. “Why can’t they just deal with him themselves?”

  “The Rogue Leaders can simply take control of the rest of their kind,” Nicolas explained, remembering the alien in the White House. It was easy to believe that the Rogue Leaders would be able to dominate their fellows if one had come so close to controlling him. “They have ... for want of a better term ... some kind of super-charisma.”

  “Super-charisma,” Tanaka said, dryly. “How much did he have to roll to
get that?”

  “Nerd,” Dudley muttered.

  “It’s up to us,” Nicolas said, ignoring the by-play. “Besides, it gives us a chance to put some of our people in space, on the mothership. The President thinks that it’s worth the risk and I, for what it’s worth, agree with him.”

  Tanaka nodded. “Space,” he said. There was a hint of awe in his voice. “But we know nothing about the damn mothership!”

  “Plans are being downloaded,” Nicolas said. He scowled. “All we have to do is kill the Rogue Leader before he manages to drop the mothership on our heads. If that happens ...”

  He shook his head. “If that happens, we’re talking something worse than Deep Impact,” he explained. “We could be looking at the end of all life on Earth.”

  “Oh good,” Brad Macintyre said. “No pressure.”

  “No planning either,” Nicolas pointed out. Ideally, SF missions should be carefully rehearsed ahead of time, although there had been no shortage of missions that had effectively been improvised from beginning to end. Even so, there had normally been more planning time than this. “We really don’t have long to get to grips with the material.”

  ***

  “Been a while since I’ve seen these,” Edward said, as he pulled the pair of goggles over his head and peered through them. A ghostly map of Washington appeared in front of him, marking his position. “I always thought that they were fucking useless in combat.”

  “No fucking argument,” Sergeant McCoy agreed. “But there isn't much choice here.”

  Edward nodded. The goggles displayed information to their users, ranging from a simple location map to detailed background information on captured terrorists. It was a cool concept that had never worked out so well in the field, like so many other ideas. Unsurprisingly, the procurement department in the Pentagon had ordered a few thousand of the goggles for the teams. Edward had heard that the manufacturers had called in a favour from their congressman to ensure that the devices were purchased by the military. He had no idea if it was actually true, but it had certainly happened before. Congress had a habit of funding weapons systems the military didn't actually need for domestic political reasons.