The Longest Day (Ark Royal X)

by Christopher Nuttall

  She looked around, desperately. Most of the cars were gone. The remaining cars looked far too much like Garrison’s to give her any confidence that their owners could drive them without the computers. And that meant ... she looked eastwards, cursing under her breath as the problem sank in. Four hundred kilometres wasn't that long a journey, in a modern car, but it would take her days to cover on foot. She touched her smartphone, trying to place another call. Nothing happened. The network was still down.

  There are boats on the water, she thought. She could see their lights, glimmering in the darkness. I could take one ...

  Cold logic caught up with her. And go where, dumbass? Woking’s inland.

  Garrison caught her arm. “Come back to the hall,” he said. “We’ll see what we can do there.”

  Molly gritted her teeth as she pulled her arm free. The hall was the last place she wanted to go. But where else could she go? They were several miles outside Penzance ... she could walk there, she supposed, but what then? A hotel? Or a taxi ... she doubted she could find a taxi driver willing to violate the curfew. Garrison had connections, but a random stranger on the street probably wouldn’t.

  “Fine,” she said, softly. “But we’re not staying.”

  Garrison said nothing as they made their way back up the garden path. The hall looked eerie in the semi-darkness, the lighted gardens she’d admired already cloaked in shadow. A handful of servants were cleaning up the buffet, while two more were keeping a wary eye on a portable terminal. A talking head was blathering about nothing while alien warships were closing in on Earth.

  “I need to speak to Lady Penelope,” Garrison said, once they were inside. “Coming?”

  Molly shrugged and followed him up the stairs. The interior of the building felt eerie too, like a movie stage that had suddenly been deserted. Molly recalled seeing hundreds of servants manning the building, but most of them appeared to have vanished. She couldn't tell if they’d gone to be with their families or been assigned to other jobs. The estate was large, larger than she’d realised. She couldn't imagine being in charge of it herself.

  Lady Penelope was sitting in her office, talking on an old-style telephone. Molly felt a spurt of hope - she could use the telephone - which died as Lady Penelope put down the handset with a curse. Landlines had gone out of fashion years ago, at least for modern houses and settlements. Her home didn't even have a landline. She might be able to use the handset to call someone in Woking, but probably not her family.

  “The landline is down,” Lady Penelope said, glaring at the handset. “I couldn't even call my family.”

  “I can't contact mine either,” Molly said. She held out her handset. “Do you have a vehicle that can take me home?”

  “Not at the moment,” Lady Penelope said. She jabbed a finger at the display. A line of prisoners were being marched into a police van. “Do you want to go into a detention centre?”

  Molly stared. “They can’t do that!”

  “The government has invoked the Security and Defence of the Realm Act,” Lady Penelope told her. She sounded distant, as if her mind was occupied elsewhere. “You do not want to be caught on the streets, not now.”

  “... Shit,” Molly said. She flushed. “Begging your pardon, My Lady.”

  “I understand the impulse,” Lady Penelope said. “But you do not want to mess with the police, not now.”

  Molly nodded. It had been years since she’d taken Modern Studies in school - the courses were mandatory - and she’d forgotten much of it, but some things had stayed with her. The Security and Defence of the Realm Act, passed during Charles Hanover’s second year as Prime Minister after a particularly unpleasant terrorist atrocity, had granted the government incredibly wide powers to fight terrorism and terrorists. The act had been hugely controversial at the time, even though the population was still reeling after the slaughter of hundreds of children. On one hand, it had given the police and security forces a free hand to go after terrorists; on the other, it had made a joke of civil liberties and put thousands of innocent people behind the wire. Even one hundred and fifty years after the Troubles, the act was still controversial ...

  And still on the books, she thought, numbly. I could go straight to jail.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she confessed. “What should I do?”

  “Nothing,” Lady Penelope said. “Stay here. I’ll have the staff make up a bed for you.”

  “Can they get me a sober-up too,” Molly said. She looked down at her dress. “And some proper clothes?”

  “If they have something in your size,” Lady Penelope said. “I think ...”

  She broke off and nodded to the terminal. The Prime Minister was giving a speech. Molly couldn't help thinking he looked tired, even though he was in London. She had no doubt that his family had already been rushed to safety. The surge of bitter envy shocked her more than she cared to admit. She’d always thought of herself as upper middle class. But now ... now, she was cut off from her children, unable even to call them. What could she do?

  “... Country faces its gravest test since the Battle of Britain,” the Prime Minister said. He sounded tired too. “The aliens have entered our solar system and are advancing on our homeworld. It will not be long before they open fire.”

  There was a long chilling pause. “Years ago, a great politician insisted that Britain would never surrender. He said that we would fight on the beaches, we would fight on the landing grounds, we would fight in the fields and in the streets, we would fight in the hills; we would never surrender. I say that to you now - we will fight in space, we will fight on the land ... we will fight until we drive the invader from our system.

  “Today, humanity stands as one, united against a common foe. Be of stout heart. Humanity will win this war. We will drive the enemy back into deep space, then counterattack until our world - our worlds - are safe once again.”

  “Pretty words,” Garrison said.

  “And cribbed from Winston Churchill,” Lady Penelope added.

  Molly shrugged. She didn't care about who’d written the original speech, let alone who’d modified it for the Prime Minister. Perhaps he'd done it himself. There was a rawness about it she’d never heard from his more polished political speeches.

  “Fine,” she said. “What do we do now?”

  “The only thing we can do,” Lady Penelope said. “We wait.”

  Chapter Eight

  Carrier 05/RFS Brezhnev, Deep Space

  The humans had noticed them.

  It was not unexpected, the combat faction noted. The human star system teemed with activity, with hundreds of starships and spacecraft making their way between worlds or heading directly to the tramlines. They’d known there was a very good chance of being spotted sooner or later, although they’d hoped to get closer before they were detected. It was ... awkward.

  The discussion raced backwards and forwards as more and more data flooded into the sensor datanet. The timing was definitely awkward. A number of human warships were pulling away from their homeworld, either fleeing or aiming to link up with other human units outside sensor range. The factions paused, momentarily unsure which way to go. Destroying the human carriers would cripple their ability to take the offensive - although the armoured carrier was nowhere to be seen - but wiping out their industrial base would finish the war, if the humans couldn't muster a counterattack before it was too late. Isolating and destroying a human sub-unit would be greeted with complete satisfaction, yet if there were other human ships out there ...

  The planet remains the priority target, the faction decided. New orders raced through the datanet, reorganising the flotillas. Their industrial base must be targeted and destroyed.

  The Song grew louder as the fleet dropped its sensor mask. There was no point in trying to hide any longer. The humans had already seen them. Besides, it soaked up energy at a terrifying rate. The fleet adjusted course slightly, preparing to launch starfighters once the first set of targets were isol
ated. Humanity’s homeworld would be heavily defended, of course. The defences would reveal themselves soon enough. And they would be destroyed before they could tip the balance in humanity’s favour.

  One squadron altered course, preparing to intercept and shadow the human ships as they powered away from Earth. Two more readied themselves to detach from the fleet and engage the human positions on Earth’s satellite. The moon was unusually large, the Tadpoles noted, although that meant nothing to them. A star system that had birthed intelligent life was already a rarity. There were only two such stars within explored space.

  Almost as an afterthought, the fleet brought its active sensors online. There was no point in denying themselves their most powerful systems any longer. Their positions were already noted and logged. Besides, their human opponents were still out of range. Better to learn as much as they could about the defences before they had to fight. If the humans were trying to lure them into a trap ...

  We can evade if necessary, the combat faction stated, silencing the doubters. And we can outrun them if we are forced to retreat.

  ***

  “Captain,” the sensor officer said. “They’re bringing their active sensors online.”

  “Hold us steady,” Captain Svetlana Zadornov ordered, coolly. She’d expected it for several minutes. The Tadpoles had already dropped their sensor mask. They probably already knew they’d been detected. If her puny sensors could pick up Earth’s defences hastily preparing for war - and they had - the aliens would have no trouble doing the same. “Don’t let them get a hint of our presence.”

  She braced herself as the aliens swept nearby space for trouble. They might not have detected Brezhnev - they would have blown her out of space if they had - but that might change the moment they used active sensors. Brezhnev was far too close to the edge of their formation for comfort, precisely where a covert shadow would want to be. She’d practiced sneaking up on carriers before - modern starships had a sensor blindspot directly to the rear - but there were just too many ships in the formation to make it easy. One ship could keep an eye on another’s blindspot. Assuming, of course, the Tadpoles had blindspots. The reports from previous engagements had been inconclusive.

  We’re about to find out, she thought, grimly. She had no doubt of their fate if the Tadpoles spotted them. Brezhnev was faster than their carriers, but she wouldn't have a hope of outrunning either missiles or starfighters. If they see us, we’re dead.

  “Updating fleet tallies now,” the sensor officer said. “I have a complete list ...”

  “Forward it to Pournelle Base,” Svetlana ordered. Earth could see the incoming fleet for itself now, but there was no point in taking chances. The Tadpoles were flying in tight formation, clearly trying to confuse the defenders. That, if nothing else, suggested they didn't know about her ship. “Helm, reduce speed a little. Let them get ahead of us.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the helmsman said.

  “We should prepare to take evasive action,” Ignatyev muttered. “Captain, if they see us ...”

  “We’re dead,” Svetlana confirmed. She shrugged. There was no point in making preparations. Brezhnev could not hope to evade whatever the enemy threw at her, once they realised she was there. “It doesn't matter.”

  “Captain,” the sensor officer said. “They’re detaching a fleet group - seven starships, all destroyers!”

  Svetlana narrowed her eyes. “Destination?”

  “Unsure as yet, Captain,” the sensor officer said. “But they’re definitely pulling away from the main body.”

  “I see,” Svetlana said.

  She ran through the potential vectors in her head. The alien ships probably weren't coming after her. They didn’t need to play games if they wanted to smash Brezhnev out of existence. But where were they going? Concentration of force was the first lesson in the tactical handbooks she’d read during basic training. Mother Russia’s tacticians had learnt, the hard way, that dispersing their force across the battlefield led to defeat. And yet, seven destroyers weren't going to make a significant difference. Unless, of course, the aliens had come up with something new.

  “Alert Pournelle Base,” she ordered. The alien vectors were sharpening now, heading directly towards the human ships. A picket force, then. Their sensors must be better than hers, she decided. They clearly didn't feel they’d lose track of their targets. “Inform them that the aliens are watching them.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the communications officer said.

  Svetlana leaned back in her command chair, careful to project an aura of calm confidence as she contemplated her options. Brezhnev had received no further orders since detecting the alien fleet, although that wasn't surprising. The Americans were notoriously careless about communications security, but even they understood the dangers of sending messages to a starship so close to the enemy. It was unlikely that the Tadpoles could decrypt humanity’s encryption codes, at least quickly enough to matter, yet even they would wonder who was supposed to receive a message they intercepted. And that meant she had freedom to act as she saw fit.

  As long as I do my duty, she thought, wryly. And that means staying close to the aliens.

  She looked at her XO. “Keep the alpha crew on duty, but send the beta and gamma crews back to bed,” she ordered. The engagement would probably be a long one, unless it turned out to be as one-sided as New Russia. “I want them refreshed for when the shit hits the fan.”

  Ignatyev nodded, curtly. “Aye, Captain.”

  Svetlana returned her attention to the display. The main body of the alien fleet was slowing, unsurprisingly. Launching starfighters at a respectable percentage of the speed of light would be a major headache, although human carriers had done it in extremis. It was good to know that the aliens had some limitations too. The detached squadron, on the other hand, was picking up speed as it hurried away from the main body. She couldn't help wondering if whoever was in command of the detached ships wanted as much independence as possible. It was certainly something she’d want, if she were in command.

  They’re aliens, she reminded herself. They won’t think like us.

  “We could alter course to track the detached units, Captain,” Ignatyev suggested. “The main body is not trying to hide.”

  Svetlana fought down a flicker of annoyance. The detached units might pose a problem, but they lacked the firepower to be a real threat. It was the main body of the alien fleet that needed to be tracked, even though it was definitely not trying to hide. Sensor nodes right across the system were already tracking the aliens as they approached Earth. It was possible that the main body of the fleet was a diversion - she had to admit it was possible - but she doubted it. Ignatyev was trying to get her in trouble. It wouldn't take much to convince her superiors that a woman had no place on the command deck.

  She gritted her teeth. The hell of it was that she would never know if he was trying to trick her ... or if he was trying to offer sound advice. She didn't dare trust him, she didn't dare trust anyone. Her uncle’s political enemies would want to take her command just to spite him, while the sycophancy of his allies was almost worse. But then, she couldn't help wondering if a sycophant might actually be useful. She wouldn't need to keep guarding her back against the knife.

  “We need to keep our eyes on the bigger formation,” she said, firmly. “We’ll hold our current course.”

  Ignatyev didn't look pleased, but he said nothing else. Svetlana watched him as he turned away, wondering if he would try to cross the line from offering alternatives to insubordination and outright mutiny. She had legal authority to execute her crewmen if they turned against her - or for anything she considered reasonable grounds for a hasty court-martial and execution, but she knew it would be dangerous. Ignatyev didn't have the sort of connections that would save his ass - or fry hers, if she killed him anyway - yet it would send a bad message to the crew. No one had ever proved that a couple of captains had been murdered by their crew - the official reports stated that both
cases were accidents - but she’d heard the rumours. Crewmen who thought they could be killed on a whim were likely to try to find a way to strike first.

  And you wanted to be on the command deck, she reminded herself, dryly. Stop whining and get on with it.

  Svetlana tapped her console, bringing up the sensor reports. The alien fleet looked twice as ominous, now it was revealed in all its malevolent glory. So far, it hadn't launched starfighters, but it didn't need them. There was nearly an hour to go until it was ready to engage Earth's defences, unless Home Fleet mounted a counterattack ahead of time. She hadn't seen the plans, but she doubted it. Home Fleet needed to concentrate its forces before moving out to engage the enemy.

  Bastards got lucky with the timing, she thought, sourly. Or was it really a coincidence?