The Longest Day (Ark Royal X)

by Christopher Nuttall

  He led the way down the corridor, shining his suit’s flashlight ahead of him. If he recalled correctly, the Luna Federation mandated that lift shafts had to be used for emergency evacuation if necessary. It wasn't something he cared to do, particularly in utter darkness, but he didn't see any choice. Clambering up the remains of the stairwell would be damn near impossible without proper equipment, which they didn't have. The snide part of his mind pointed out that there were probably ropes in the bondage suites, if they had time to look, but he wasn't sure how much time they actually had. They’d start running out of air sooner or later.

  “That’s the lift door there,” Abigail said. “I don’t know how to open it.”

  “Brute force,” Brian said. The door was slightly ajar. He took one side and motioned for Farrakhan, then tugged the heavy door as hard as he could. The door wobbled, then slowly inched open. Brian pushed it as far as he could, looking around for something they could use to lock it in place, but there was nothing. “We’ll have to be very careful.”

  He shone his torch inside the shaft. There was a ladder, set into the metal. He looked up, trying to determine where the lift itself actually was, but he could see nothing. At least the uppermost levels of the shaft didn't seem to have been exposed to vacuum. He looked down into the darkness, then sighed. They’d just have to take their chances.

  “I’ll go first,” he said, positioning his torch on the suit. “Abigail, you follow me once I reach the top. Paul, you bring up the rear.”

  Farrakhan looked nervous, although it was hard to be sure with his face half-hidden behind the helmet. Brian didn't really blame him. Climbing up a lift shaft in semi-darkness, unsure if the lift was going to come plummeting down at any second ... it was enough to unnerve anyone. He told himself to get on with it before he had an attack of nerves and reached out, taking hold of the rungs. They felt solid, thankfully. He forced himself to swing out and start climbing up before it was too late. The darkness ebbed and flowed around him like a living thing as he scrambled up and ...

  He bumped his head into something, hard. His hands unclenched, automatically. It was all he could do to catch hold again before he plummeted down the shaft. He cursed, a second later, as he realised what had happened. The lift had been secured at the top of the shaft, blocking his way. He hadn't even seen it before bumping his head.

  Fuck, he thought. He reached up, trying to find the bottom hatch. There should be a way to climb into the lift ... unless, of course, the Management had skimped on that too. He wouldn't care to bet, either way. Ah!

  He opened the hatch and pulled himself up into the lift. The doors were open, revealing the uppermost level. Stars shone down, unblinkingly, through the gashes in the dome. He keyed his radio, calling for Abigail to follow him, then helped her into the cab when she reached the top. The lift quivered under him as she climbed inside. Brian cursed, hoping it would remain stable for a few minutes longer. Farrakhan was already climbing up to them ...

  The lift shuddered, then started to move. Brian threw himself out of the doors a second before it was too late, shouting a desperate warning. But Farrakhan had nowhere to hide. The falling lift slammed into him, knocking him down the shaft. Brian rolled over and peered downwards, hoping desperately for a miracle as the lift hit the bottom. But it was hopeless. His imagination filled in the details all too well. Farrakhan would have been crushed to a pulp under the lift, his body trapped right at the bottom. Even if he’d avoided that, his suit wouldn't have stood up to the impact.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I ...”

  Abigail caught his arm. “What now?”

  Brian looked around. The railway station was to the north, but he doubted the trains would be running on time. There was a shuttleport - he had a rough idea where it was - yet flying a shuttle through a war zone was asking for trouble. Besides, he didn't know how to fly a shuttle. That left ...

  “The garage,” he said. He keyed his radio, once again. Still nothing. He was starting to suspect the entire colony was dead. Anyone in the shelters was probably waiting, expecting to be rescued at any moment. “If we’re lucky, we can find a buggy of some kind.”

  Abigail looked at him, suddenly. “What ... what if my parents are dead?”

  Brian hesitated. He hadn't considered that.

  “I don’t know,” he said. He’d accepted a contract to return Abigail to her family, but ... who would pay him if her parents were dead? He shrugged. He couldn't just abandon her. “We’ll find out when we get there.”

  “If the aliens hit this colony,” Abigail mused, “they’ll hit other colonies too.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Brian said. The last thing he wanted was her dwelling on the possibility of being an orphan. Besides, they really didn't have time to worry about it. “I’m sure they’re still alive.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Near Earth/Earth Orbit

  “Targets locked, sir,” Commodore Jack Warner said. “The starfighters are ready.”

  Admiral Thaddeus Robertson nodded, grimly. Home Fleet had sat on the sidelines for far too long. Delay had followed delay, keeping his formation out of the engagement while Earth’s defenders stood alone. No longer, he promised himself, as a low rumble echoed through Enterprise’s hull. It was time to take the offense and drive the aliens away from Earth.

  “On my mark, punch it,” he ordered. He took a long breath. “Now!”

  “Launching starfighters,” Warner said. “Mass drivers online and firing ... now!”

  “Take us on a least-time course to Earth,” Thaddeus added. “And prepare to launch the remaining starfighters on my command.”

  He sucked in his breath as his starfighter squadrons raced towards the alien observation squadron. He’d wracked his brains to find a way to dispose of the bastards without alerting their comrades, but there was nothing. The aliens had chosen their position well. They were close enough to keep tabs on Home Fleet’s location, while far away enough to make it impossible for him to stomp on them easily. The alien commanders would know that Home Fleet was on the way.

  “The starfighters are engaging the alien ships now,” Warner reported. “They’re taking them out, one by one.”

  And taking a beating too, Thaddeus thought. Enterprise quivered as she picked up speed, her flanking units spreading out around her. Those cruisers were designed to deal with starfighters.

  “Ready a second strike,” he ordered, curtly. “I want to dispose of the last of those cruisers before we reach the main body.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Thaddeus leaned forward, watching grimly as the last of the alien ships vanished from the display. They were fast - he envied them their speed - but no match for a flight of starfighters. And while they had bled his pilots, they hadn't done any real damage to the fleet. They’d never had a chance to get within weapons range.

  “Recall and rearm the strike force,” he ordered. Choosing not to deploy the bombers had been a gamble, but it had paid off. “And then ramp up speed as much as possible.”

  He forced himself to lean back in his chair as the display updated, time and time again. The alien fleet had only two real options: fight or run. He wasn't sure which one the aliens would pick. Home Fleet had a major advantage - sixteen carriers to ten - but superior alien speed and firepower would even the odds. And they had their smaller ships too. Thaddeus had hoped to call on squadrons from Earth’s defences to boost his forces, but it was clear that those pilots had taken a beating. At least a third of them were dead.

  And they took out most of the lunar mass drivers, he reminded himself. They’ll have an excellent chance if they choose to engage us.

  He considered their possible options as the timer steadily ticked down to zero. The aliens could simply retreat at once and race for the tramlines. God knew he had next to nothing to put in their path, although the belters might give the aliens a fright if they passed too close to one of the fortified asteroids. Or they could seek open space and give battl
e there. Or - and worst, from his point of view - they could take themselves to Mars or Jupiter and lay waste to the facilities there. Home Fleet would have to give chase, which would mean engaging the aliens well away from Earth and Luna.

  Or letting them lead us on a stern chase until they grow tired of it, he thought. But they can’t be sure when our reinforcements will arrive.

  “Inform Admiral Montgomery that we are coming in hot,” he said, dismissing the thought with a bitter shrug. The aliens would have to show him their next move before he could respond to it. “And see if you can draw an update from Earth’s defenders. If the aliens want to make a stand, I want Earth’s remaining starfighters and bombers to reinforce us.”

  “Aye, sir,” Warner said.

  ***

  The Combat Faction was not afraid to die. Like the other factions, it was an ideal. Death - physical death - simply wasn't a real threat. But the prospect of being discredited was far worse. It had to concede, as the human fleet finally began its long-awaited movement, that it might have mishandled the battle. The humans hadn’t - yet - matched them, not technologically. But they’d done enough to ensure that the Combat Faction couldn't smash their defences in a single short campaign and win the war.

  Now, it considered a number of possible options. Pushing the offensive further against Earth was no longer in the Song, unless they chose to lay waste to the planet before the human ships arrived. The option danced through the various factions, only to be shortly dismissed by most of them. Retreat was a valid possibility - they’d already done a great deal of damage, admittedly at a significant cost - but it would leave the human fleet intact. And that would give the humans options for continuing the war.

  That fleet must be destroyed, the Combat Faction decreed. We must continue the engagement.

  The Song rose and fell. Given the damage to the human installations, it was quite likely the humans would need years to replace so many ships if they were lost. There was no way to be certain, of course, but it seemed logical. Besides, newer and better ships were already coming out of their shipyards. They hadn't gambled everything on one push against Earth, after all.

  New orders flowed through the command net. The fleet slowly altered its position, turning away from Earth. Their remaining starfighters broke off their engagements and streaked back towards their carriers, reluctant to run the risk of being left behind. The humans held back, licking their wounds. Just for a long moment, the battle seemed to come to halt.

  We will seek better ground, the Combat Faction announced. And they will come to us.

  The sub-factions surveyed the system. There was no shortage of potential targets, even if the humans did seem to delight in putting colonies everywhere. The Tadpoles noted the terraforming project on the fourth world with bemusement. There was no shortage of habitable worlds beyond the tramlines either. Why the humans considered an attempt to reshape an old and dry world into something suitable for them was beyond the factions. It looked like an expensive and pointless project to them.

  Let them waste their resources, if they must, one sub-faction stated. It only weakens them.

  We will set course for the fifth planet, the Combat Faction said. There was nothing to be gained by trying to understand humans. They were alien beings. Their society and history spoke of nothing, but war. They were too dangerous to be allowed to infest space. And they will follow us.

  Doubt floated through parts of the Song, but not enough to force a change. The fifth planet was a massive gas giant, one of the largest recorded. And the installations orbiting the giant planet were easy to identify. Cloudscoops and refineries ... if they were destroyed, they’d hamper human reconstruction. It wasn't a direct way to win, but it would work. And it would force the humans to give chase. They’d have no choice.

  And then we will win, the Combat Faction stated. It will only be a matter of time.

  ***

  “They’re pulling out!”

  Ginny looked up in disbelief. The alien fleet was slowly turning away, redeploying its flankers to cover its retreat. Their starfighters were leaving too, breaking off their engagements and running for their lives. She felt a sudden rush of hope, mingled with fear, as the other starfighter pilots jeered the fleeing aliens. The battle hadn't been decided yet, had it? What were the aliens doing?

  “Prepare to redeploy,” the dispatcher ordered.

  His voice brought Ginny back to herself with a bump. They were in trouble. Pournelle and several of the other installations were gone, which meant ... she sucked in her breath. Could they survive long enough to find a starfighter berth? Could they land on a British or French flight deck? She was fairly sure of the former, but what about the latter? God knew she’d never tried to land on a Russian or Chinese flight deck.

  And Home Fleet was coming ...

  She told herself to be patient. The aliens might be retreating, but they hadn’t reached the tramline and vanished ... not yet. There was a good chance she’d be called back to the fight, whatever happened. If, of course, she didn't run out of life support or simply collapse in her cockpit. She’d taken far too many drugs for her own peace of mind. The warnings the medics had given them, years ago, seemed a distant memory. Now, there was a faint fuzziness at the back of her mind that worried her.

  “Hold position,” the dispatcher ordered. “We’re recovering the bombers first.”

  Ginny fought down a yawn. That made sense, she supposed. The bombers were far more vulnerable than any of the starfighters. But she couldn't help thinking that her squadron should have been recovered first. They’d been fighting for hours ... she glanced at her watch, feeling cold. Two and a half hours. It felt like longer, much longer. She would have sworn a mighty oath that they’d been fighting for years.

  She pushed the thought aside. There was no point in whining. She’d known the job was dangerous when she took it. And besides, she’d done well. They’d all done well ...

  Those who survived, she thought. Only four of her pre-battle squadron remained alive. She didn't want to think about how many other friends she’d lost over the last few hours. And it isn't over yet.

  ***

  “Hold us within their blindspot,” Captain Svetlana Zadornov ordered, quietly. The aliens were altering course at terrifying speed, coming about and setting course for Jupiter. She was tempted to order Brezhnev to go completely stealthy, long enough for the aliens to leave them behind, but she knew her duty. “Don’t let them get a sniff of us.”

  She felt the tension rising on the bridge. The aliens hadn't noticed Brezhnev, but that might change as they passed far too close to her. There were too many starfighters and flankers moving past for her to feel any confidence in their stealth. And yet, the aliens had problems of their own. Home Fleet was bearing down on them and they were beating a hasty retreat.

  No, she told herself, sharply. They’re heading for Jupiter.

  She cursed under her breath as she considered the implications. Every Great Power - and every nation that aimed at Great Power status - had an installation or two orbiting Jupiter. No sane power wanted to allow another power to control its supply of HE3. That was how OPEC had played the Great Powers for fools, before the Age of Unrest. Russia owned no less than five cloudscoops orbiting Jupiter, as well as three more orbiting Saturn. Losing them ... she didn't want to think about the consequences.

  New Russia gobbled up half our entire budget for space-based operations for the last twenty years, she thought. Her uncle and his comrades had backed the colony right from the start, insisting that Russia needed an entire star system of its own. And now all that investment is lost.

  The alien craft passed closer to Brezhnev as they glided onwards. Svetlana held her breath, expecting to see the bridge explode around her at any moment. It felt weird to think that so many massive starships were so close to her, yet not seeing her ... she couldn't even feel any trace of their passing. It reminded her of the time she would hide from her brothers on the estate, deliberately
choosing the tiniest hiding place imaginable. They’d never quite believed just how small she could make herself, with an effort. Even as a teenager, she’d been better at hiding than them.

  They would walk past me without noticing, she thought. She shivered, inwardly. One of her older brothers had died on a search-and-destroy mission, somewhere in Central Asia. The other was mustering forces on the ground to meet a potential invasion. And the aliens are doing the same.

  “Keep us moving after them,” she ordered, firmly. Home Fleet would need to overhaul the aliens, step by step, unless the aliens deliberately sought battle and slowed down. “Don’t let them get too far ahead of us.”

  “We might have pushed our luck too far, Captain,” Ignatyev said.

  Svetlana smiled. She could hear a hint of grudging respect in his tone, even though she knew he would probably have denied it. Brezhnev had done well, all the more so as no one had expected them to do anything of the sort. Her ship had stayed close enough to the aliens to keep Earth informed, at great personal risk. She wondered, absently, how her detractors would feel, when they found out the truth. There weren't many commanders in any of the modern space navies who could make the same claim.