Her face darkened as she remembered her last lunch with her uncle, shortly before returning to her command. A number of ships had gone missing in the months before the Battle of Vera Cruz, ships that could easily have been captured or destroyed by the Tadpoles. And it was clear the Tadpoles could speak to humans, even though they rarely bothered. Could they have made contact with dissident human factions? Could they have placed spies within the Kremlin? It didn’t seem likely, but that hadn't stopped the KGB from cracking down on dissidents all over the Russian Federation. Mother Russia had thousands of enemies. Some of them were even inside the walls.
And it made a nice little excuse for a crackdown, she thought. And round up quite a few people who thought themselves untouchable.
It was a sobering thought. She had few illusions about her government, even though she loved her country. Russia had always been ruled by the knout, even if the justifications changed over the years. Dissidents could not be tolerated, not within the walls. Their selfishness would bring the country to its knees, if given the chance. Better to crack down on them before it was too late.
She allowed herself a cold smile. She'd seen the list of purged men and women - most of whom had been sent to Siberia rather than simply executed - and several had been quite familiar. One of them, a professor who’d expected her to service him in exchange for a good grade, deserved far worse than spending the rest of his life counting trees. Svetlana wouldn't waste her time feeling sorry for him. He’d probably spend far too much time on his knees once he reached the gulag. The nasty part of her mind wondered how he’d enjoy playing the girl.
It’s all about power, her uncle had said, months ago. And about never letting a crisis go to waste.
“The enemy ships are repeating their sensor scans,” the sensor officer reported. “So far, they haven’t seen us.”
“Keep us steady,” Svetlana ordered. Brezhnev was within the turbulence zone. There was a good chance that anyone who caught a sniff of her presence would put it down to the turbulence instead of a prowling human starship. But she knew better than to take that for granted. The aliens knew they’d been detected, after all. “Keep forwarding our sensor readings to Pournelle Base.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Svetlana nodded curtly as the seconds ticked away. Earth wasn't that far away now ... she wondered, grimly, just what was happening on the streets of Moscow. Schoolchildren were taught what to do, if the alarms sounded, but she had no faith in the system. The shelters had been designed for terrorist bombings, not for alien invasion. All the official dogma about how Mother Russia’s vast size worked in her favour didn't apply to an enemy who controlled the high orbitals, ready and willing to drop KEWs on anything that moved. She knew just how effective orbital firepower had been against insurgents, during the later stages of the Age of Unrest. The barbarians simply hadn't realised just how advanced technology had become, nor how effective it could be when its users were no longer concerned about collateral damage. Every young man in Russia was expected to join the militia - if they weren’t conscripted into the military - but she had no idea how they’d stack up against the aliens. There just wasn't enough data from New Russia on how the Tadpoles intended to treat humanity’s homeworld.
“Captain, we have received a message directly from Pournelle Base,” the communications officer said. “They’re ordering us to remain where we are and prepare for fire-control duties, if necessary.”
Svetlana tensed. “Was that message relayed through the drone?”
“Yes, Captain,” the communications officer said. “But the aliens might have gotten a sniff of the original message.”
“Understood,” Svetlana said. “Send back an acknowledgement, then wait.”
She kept her face impassive, even though it was bad news. If the aliens had picked up the original message, they might wonder who had actually been intended to receive it. Perhaps they’d dismiss it - humanity’s homeworld practically radiated with radio signals heading in all directions, most of which would be utterly incomprehensible to alien minds - but she didn't dare take it for granted. The aliens knew they’d been detected. It wasn't that much of a jump to think they might have accidentally crossed paths with a stealthed picket ship.
“Fucking Americans,” Ignatyev growled. “They could have killed us!”
“Perhaps,” Svetlana said. She watched the alien ships for a long moment. It didn't look as though they were preparing to blow Brezhnev into space dust, but that meant nothing. Her ship was far too close to them for her peace of mind. “But the aliens don’t seem to have noticed.”
She silently promised herself she’d file a complaint later, if there was a later. It would probably come to nothing, but it might give Uncle Sasha leverage in the ongoing Great Power negotiations. She had no doubt that her family would praise her achievement to the skies, particularly if she lost her life during the battle. They’d always found her more of an embarrassment than she knew they cared to admit. She couldn't help wondering if one of the reasons she’d been assigned to Brezhnev was her family hoping it would keep her out of sight and out of mind.
“The alien fleet is reducing speed again,” the sensor officer reported. “They’re launching sensor probes towards Earth.”
“Watch for them sending anything to the rear,” Svetlana ordered, curtly. “Helm, reduce speed to match.”
“Aye, Captain,” the helmsman said.
Svetlana nodded, then turned her attention to the in-system display. The system was going dark, hundreds of radio sources snapping out of existence as the alert raced across the solar system. Asteroid miners, freighters ... they were trying to hide in the vastness of space, trusting that the aliens wouldn't be able to find them easily. Svetlana hoped they were right, although she feared the worst. The aliens had had plenty of time to note the locations of each and every radio source before they’d been detected.
And the planetary colonies couldn't hope to hide, she thought, grimly. If the Tadpoles won the coming battle, they’d be able to destroy the colonies, asteroid habitats and industrial nodes at leisure. They’ll be easy to find, once the aliens start looking.
“They’ll see us, sooner or later,” Ignatyev warned. His face was very grim. He looked like a man in desperate need of a drink. “And then we’re dead.”
“I know,” Svetlana said. The closer they got to Earth, the harder it was to justify sticking so close to the aliens. They were far too close for comfort. “But we have to keep an eye on them.”
Her lips quirked into a cold smile. Ignatyev might be right. But if he was right, he’d be too dead to say he’d told her so. They’d all be dead.
And as long as we die bravely, she thought, we might as well die for something.
Chapter Nine
Pournelle Base (USA), Earth Orbit
“We’re picking up messages from across the system, sir,” Captain Mike Hanson said. “The entire system is going dark.”
“Very good,” Admiral Jonathan Winters said, coolly. “Are the emergency procedures in place?”
“Yes, sir,” Hanson said. He paused. “I don’t know how effective they will be.”
“Of course not,” Jon said. “We never actually tested them, did we?”
He pushed his annoyance aside with an effort. The alien fleet had reduced speed twice, either preparing to launch starfighters or deliberately trying to lure him into sending Home Fleet to engage the enemy in interplanetary space. That would be a mistake. Home Fleet was stronger, numerically, but the alien technology gave them the edge. There was no way he could risk committing Home Fleet to battle until it was concentrated and, ideally, the alien forces had been worn down a little.
“Mars, Venus and the smaller colonies are activating their emergency procedures now, sir,” Hanson said. “The asteroid miners should be able to avoid detection indefinitely.”
Jon shrugged. He wasn't that concerned about the asteroid miners. The technology used to mine the asteroids, from tiny one-man ships
to giant mobile refiners, was hardly difficult to replace. He was a great deal more concerned about the industrial nodes and the cloudscoops orbiting the gas giants. Losing the cloudscoops alone would do immense damage to the planetary economy. There were stockpiles of HE3 across the system, but he doubted they could meet demand until the cloudscoops were replaced. If Earth ran out of fuel ...
“We’ll worry about it later,” he said. “Time to engagement?”
“Thirty minutes, unless they reduce speed again,” Hanson said. He nodded to the display. “They’re trying to keep us guessing.”
“Or force us to put wear and tear on our equipment and personnel,” Jon said. “Clever of them.”
He rubbed his forehead as he contemplated the problem. Naval doctrine called for launching starfighters and bombers as quickly as possible, but that would tire his pilots before the battle even began. And yet, not getting them out into space risked losing them if the aliens took out their bases. The Tadpoles knew to go for the carriers. They could probably also guess which orbital installations carried starfighters of their own. They’d certainly seen orbital defence installations at New Russia.
“Order the CSP to remain on alert, but hold back the remaining starfighters,” he ordered, grimly. “Have we primed the remainder of the defences?”
“Yes, sir,” Hanson said. “All orbital installations have been alerted. Automated systems are coming online now, while missile pods are being deployed and linked into the planetary defence datanet. We’ll be at peak readiness within twenty minutes.”
“Let us hope so,” Jon said. He frowned as another report came in from the long-range sensors. The detached alien squadron was heading straight for Home Fleet. “And the fleet?”
“Readying itself, sir,” Hanson said. “The main body of the fleet will be concentrated in forty minutes, save for the Mars and Io detachments. They were caught out of position and will require more time to join the fleet.”
Jon nodded, tersely. It was unfortunate, but it couldn't be helped. A civilian would probably have asked why the remaining detachments couldn't hit the enemy ships from the rear, yet anyone with any grounding in space combat would know the answer at once. Coordinating a battle on an interplanetary scale would be an absolute nightmare, even if spreading out his forces in the face of the enemy hadn't been a spectacularly bad idea. He’d seen a handful of fleet exercises where the planners had tried to be clever, but almost all of them had ended badly. A handful of the groundpounders had even had the nerve to accuse the umpires of rigging the game against them.
Their grand plans won’t be workable until we find a way to send messages at FTL speeds, he thought. It wasn't something he’d wanted, when he’d stood on a command deck, but he saw the value of it now. Real-time updates from his detachments would be very useful, even if it would allow him to nag his subordinates. And then the politicos will use it to micromanage.
“Inform me when they finally link up with Home Fleet,” he ordered. “And then start launching long-range probes towards the alien fleet.”
“Aye, sir,” Hanson said.
Jon studied the display, thinking hard. On one hand, the aliens had dropped the sensor mask, revealing their presence to anyone who cared to look. Cold logic told him that they’d seen his ships departing orbit and drawn the right conclusion. On the other hand, the aliens were flying in such close formation that they had to assume he couldn't pick one ship out from the others. If he hadn't had Brezhnev in position, they would have been right.
They don't think like us, he reminded himself, sternly. They might not have any problem revealing themselves at this stage.
Hanson coughed. “A shame we sent Ark Royal away, sir.”
Jon shrugged. They’d made the best call they could with the information they’d had at the time, although he didn't expect the politicians to understand that. There would be recriminations aplenty after the battle, if there was anyone left to recriminate. Taking the offensive - hopefully knocking the aliens back long enough for humanity’s space navies to adapt to the new reality - had seemed a good idea at the time. And pinning humanity’s one major combatant that had a hope in hell of hurting the bastards, to a single planet, would have cost them the war. He had no doubt that the Tadpoles were adapting their tactics too.
“We’ll have to cope without her,” he said, dryly. “And I’m sure we will.”
He leaned back in his command chair and took a sip of his coffee, trying to appear calm and composed even though his heart was beating like a drum. The defence of the solar system rested in his hands. Earth rested in his hands. If he failed, billions of humans would either be enslaved or killed. The Tadpoles would devastate the orbital industrial nodes, if nothing else. They weren't that alien. They’d know that destroying humanity’s industrial base would be enough to win the war.
Hanson cleared his throat. “The Japanese and Chinese squadrons are finally ready to launch, sir,” he said. “Two officers have apparently been removed by their direct superiors.”
“Understood,” Jon said.
He sighed, inwardly. There was a war on ... and the various Great Powers were still playing games. But then, if a Chinese or Russian officer had been in charge of the planetary defences, he rather suspected that America would have qualms too. Hell, even getting an American to take command had been a political nightmare. The only officer who enjoyed universal support was Theodore Smith and his record was decidedly mixed.
But he did give us our first victories, Jon thought. And that definitely counts for something.
“Keep me informed,” he said, putting the thought aside. “We have to be ready when the hammer comes down.”
***
“They want us to stay here? Are they mad?”
Captain Ginny Saito kept her expression under tight control, even though she privately agreed with Lieutenant Bush Williams. The starfighters were lethal in space - all the more so now the squadron had been refitted with plasma guns - but they were utterly vulnerable as long as they remained in the station’s launch bays. Hell, the fighter pilots themselves were sitting in the ready room, rather than manning their craft. She understood the logic - starfighters simply didn't have very long endurance - but she also understood the frustration. Her pilots wanted to get out there and start tearing into the enemy.
“The CO has issued his orders,” she said, sharply. “And we will obey them.”
She sat back in her chair, keeping her private frustration off her face. She’d been in the military long enough to know that you never bad-mouthed your seniors to your juniors, even if you thought it was just a harmless griping session. It was bad for discipline, if nothing else. And she did understand the orders they’d been given. Better to take the squadron directly into battle rather than risk running out of life support midway through the engagement.
“I’m just saying we’re sitting ducks,” Williams insisted. “What happens if they start throwing rocks at us?”
Ginny shrugged. “Sit down and shut up,” she said, firmly. “We’ll launch when we are told to launch.”
She looked from face to face, silently gauging their feelings. The squadron had been on active duty before the war, but an assignment to home defence meant that they wouldn't have a chance to actually engage the enemy. Or so they’d thought. The big display was showing a host of red icons descending on Earth with murderous intent. God alone knew what the aliens would do, when they entered orbit, but she doubted it would be pleasant. She’d seen speculations of everything from a negotiated surrender to the complete destruction of humanity’s homeworld.
And we lost friends at New Russia, she thought. She’d known a number of pilots who’d died in the brief, one-sided engagement. We all want a little revenge.
She forced herself to sit still, despite an overwhelming urge to get up and pace. That would have upset her squadron ... she wondered, suddenly, if she had any paperwork she needed to do in a hurry. But that probably didn't matter. She’d seen too many of the reports
from New Russia - and Ark Royal’s engagements - to have any doubt about just how powerful the aliens actually were. The odds were stacked against any of her squadron surviving to see the end of the war.
“I knew I should have rewritten my will,” Lieutenant George Faulkner said, suddenly. “That bitch in Los Angeles is going to get my pension, I know it!”
“Then try not to die,” Williams advised. “You don’t have time to write your will now.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. Faulkner had been married twice and both relationships had been disastrous. Honestly! She didn't understand why he hadn't gone to Sin City on his last leave and spent some time in the brothels there. Or simply picked up a girl or boy in one of the bars that sprang up like weeds around military bases. It wasn't as if starfighter pilots, male or female, had any trouble finding company for the night. A flightsuit was just as good as a pheromone-tinged perfume for attracting the opposite sex and it had the advantage of being legal. But she supposed some people were eternal optimists. She wouldn't consider marriage herself until she left the service or took a desk job.
The Longest Day (Ark Royal X) Page 9