The Longest Day (Ark Royal X)

by Christopher Nuttall

  There was no way to know. Ark Royal was hundreds of light years away, completely out of reach. She might have hit the alien homeworld or not, but he wouldn't know anything about it until a message reached home. There was certainly no point in hoping that Ark Royal would be back in time to affect the outcome of the battle. Jon and Home Fleet would win or lose without her.

  “Continue the pursuit,” he said. He hesitated. “I want you to remain in tactical command.”

  A flicker of relief crossed Robertson’s face, mingled with concern. Jon didn't really blame him. The senior officer should have command, but Robertson had been in command of Home Fleet long enough to stamp his authority on the combined fleet. There was no point in risking the confusion that would follow - that would be sure to follow - if Jon assumed command. Besides, someone would probably complain that Jon wasn't the person who’d been placed in command of the fleet.

  “I’ll be here if you need me,” he added. “Until then ... do you have a cabin for me?”

  “We’ve assigned a spare cabin in Officer Country,” Robertson said. He looked oddly concerned. “It's a small space ...”

  “It will do,” Jon assured him. He’d met admirals who’d pitch a fit if they weren't assigned cabins that fitted their status, but he’d never liked them. Besides, there was a war on - and he was exhausted. He’d happily sleep in a midshipman’s bunk if it meant he got to sleep. “Can you assign cabins to the rest of my staff?”

  “Yes, sir,” Robertson said. “I’ll have it done at once.”

  Jon rose. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m very glad you came.”

  “Me too,” Robertson said. “But it feels as though we didn't make it in time.”

  “We held,” Jon said. “And that’s all that matters.”

  ***

  “The alien fleet is gradually picking up speed,” the helmsman reported. “They’ll be inching ahead of us soon.”

  Svetlana nodded, curtly. The alien fleet carriers were fast, if the intelligence reports were to be believed, but their acceleration curves weren't much better than a human carrier’s. They definitely weren't any better than Brezhnev’s, although increasing her speed posed a significant risk. The aliens would be far more likely to catch a sniff of them if they forced their drives to work harder.

  “Keep us here,” she ordered. The alien carriers couldn't outrun Brezhnev. That was the important detail. “Time to Point Io?”

  “Seven hours, assuming the alien speed remains fairly constant,” the helmsman said, carefully. “However, I believe it will top out and steady eventually.”

  “Let us hope so,” Svetlana said, dryly. If the aliens could keep ramping up their speed until they were pushing the light barrier itself, Brezhnev would be left in the dust. “Keep updating Pournelle ... ah, Nelson Base.”

  She leaned back in her chair, fighting down a sudden wave of exhaustion. She’d expected a short, sharp engagement, not ... not a long crawl across the solar system. She knew she’d done well - she knew her crew had done well - but she also knew they were pushing their limits. And they’d need to be fresh for the next engagement.

  “Mr. Ignatyev, take the bridge,” she ordered. It was unlikely anything would happen for at least six hours, unless the aliens detected Brezhnev before then. And if that happened, the ship would be blown to dust before they had a chance to realise that something had gone badly wrong. “Make sure that half the crew have a chance to get some rest for several hours.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Ignatyev said.

  Svetlana rose, taking the opportunity to look around the cramped bridge. She’d have to detox, then use a sleeping pill ... she’d be vulnerable, if someone intended to try to stick a knife in her back. But now, with a battle still underway, it was unlikely that anyone would dare. Her enemies - her family’s enemies - wouldn't support someone who put Mother Russia at risk. And the motherland was still at risk.

  She walked through the hatch, keeping her head held high. It wasn't a sign of weakness, she told herself firmly. Male captains would need to rest too ... not that they’d see it that way. And besides ... she’d have to make sure that Ignatyev got some rest as well. He’d be tired too.

  And he’d have to explain himself if anything happened to me, she thought. Ignatyev had no one to support him, if he was accused of murdering his superior officer. He won’t find that very pleasant at all.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sin City, Luna

  Brian couldn't help feeling more and more uneasy as they made their way slowly towards the garage. Dead bodies lay everywhere, most of them wearing security or administration uniforms. What the hell had happened? If he’d heard the alert, the staff should have heard it too ... they should have been encouraging the guests to abandon the card tables, gaming chambers and brothels and head straight to the nearest shelter. Had they really thought Sin City wouldn't be attacked? Or had they feared what would happen if hundreds of guests were forced to spend hours in the shelters?

  He looked at Abigail as they reached the garage and opened the hatch. It was hard to be sure, but it looked as though a number of vehicles were missing. The main doors were open, revealing the cold grey landscape outside. Brian pursed his lips as he surveyed the remaining vehicles, wondering who had taken them and why. The tiny rovers were useless for what he had in mind, but the larger vans - were far better. He just hoped the ones left behind were in working order.

  They used to do trips to the Apollo sites, he recalled. Sin City was hardly the only colony that handled such trips, but there was something special about theirs. The cynic in him wondered if they included orgies. One of those vans would keep us alive long enough to reach safety.

  Abigail followed him as he walked towards the nearest van. “What are we going to do about the others?”

  “I don’t know,” Brian admitted. He’d hoped to encounter other survivors as they neared the surface. Instead, Sin City appeared to be completely dead. “We’d need proper equipment to get back to them.”

  He opened the van and stepped into the airlock. The lights came on automatically, making him jump in surprise. He motioned for Abigail to remain outside, then cycled the airlock and walked into the interior. His suit checked the atmosphere and reported that it was breathable, something that worried him more than he cared to admit. If the van had been pressurised, why hadn't it been taken out of the garage? And yet, everything seemed to be working properly. The engine had power, the air cylinders were full and the navigation system was online.

  Although half of the GPS satellites appear to be gone, he thought, as he put the system through a basic check. Either the aliens took them out or they were shut down to keep from attracting alien fire.

  He called Abigail into the van, then activated the engine. The van hummed to life as he removed his helmet, taking a breath of dry air. There was enough life support to keep them alive for several weeks, he discovered as he explored the van carefully. The recycler would ensure they didn't run out of food, at least as long as they were careful not to think too hard about what they were actually eating ...

  “The suit was starting to smell,” Abigail complained. “Can I get a shower?”

  “Not yet,” Brian told her. There was a shower in the back - and they could recycle the water - but he wanted her to stay in the suit. “We don’t know what we’re going to encounter on the surface.”

  He gunned the engine, moving the van through the doors and out onto the lunar soil. The navigation system seemed to be having problems picking out a safe place to go ... he checked the radio and datanet, but found nothing. They couldn't be the last living humans on the moon, could they? It seemed impossible, but ... he shook his head, angrily dismissing the thought. Humans had burrowed deep into the lunar surface over the last fifteen decades. The aliens would have had to shatter the moon into a whole new asteroid field just to slaughter every last human.

  “There’s a defence station nearby,” he said. In hindsight, perhaps that had been what had drawn the
alien fire. They might have assumed Sin City and the defence station were linked in some way. “There should be recovery crews there, if nowhere else.”

  Abigail looked downcast. “And what if there’s nothing left, but a pile of rubble?”

  “We have power and supplies,” Brian told her. “We can head straight for another colony, if necessary.”

  The van hummed as it moved forward. Abigail sat quietly for several minutes, then stood and clumped her way to the rear. Brian felt a flicker of pity, mingled with irritation. Going to the toilet in a spacesuit was never fun, but ... she should know better than to risk taking off her spacesuit. The van would normally have provided all the protection she needed, yet ... there was a war on. Someone might just decide the van posed a threat and drop a missile on them.

  Which would kill us both, spacesuits or no spacesuits, Brian reminded himself, dryly. A KEW would smash us to atoms.

  “I made coffee,” Abigail said, as she returned. “Do you take yours with or without sugar?”

  “Black, no sugar,” Brian said. He silently awarded her points as he took his mug. He hadn't thought to check for coffee himself. “How much coffee is there?”

  “A couple of dozen cups,” Abigail said. “I guess they don’t trust the guests enough to give them coffee grains and powdered milk.”

  “They probably have a deal going with whoever produces the cups,” Brian said. He sipped his coffee gratefully. “What else was back there?”

  “Some ration bars,” Abigail said. “I don’t think they expected someone to take this van.”

  “Probably not,” Brian said. He looked up. The stars were burning in the lunar sky, utterly unmoving. “Why did you run away?”

  Abigail looked down. “Do we have to talk about it?”

  “It’s something to do,” Brian said. He glanced at her, then returned his attention to the lunar surface. “You’re not the first kid I’ve seen run away from home.”

  “I’m not a kid!”

  “You’re fifteen,” Brian said. He kept his face expressionless. Had he been so convinced he wasn't a child when he’d been that age? Probably. “You won’t even be old enough to vote for another six years.”

  “That’s unfair,” Abigail said. “I live on the moon. Why can't I vote?”

  “Because you need some life experience to keep you from falling for the first idiot politico who promises you free lunches for the rest of your life?” Brian asked. “There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch!”

  Abigail snorted. “You see that written everywhere on the moon.”

  Brian sighed. “Most of the kids I saw who ran away had problems at home,” he said. “Their parents were nasty, or drug addicts, or simply didn't know how to take care of them. Others ... others thought they were grown up and that they could take care of themselves. They always managed to get themselves into trouble by the time the police caught up with them.”

  “My parents treated me like a child,” Abigail said. “They ... they think I’m still five!”

  “I thought the same, when I was your age,” Brian said.

  “And I bet you found it just as maddening,” Abigail said. Brian conceded the point with a nod. “Did you ever wonder how many of your friends weren't really your friends?”

  “No,” Brian said.

  “My parents never let me do anything for myself,” Abigail said. “I never got to go out of the mansion, unless I went straight to a friend’s mansion. Even then, I was driven there by one of the servants, who would stay with me until it was time to go home. I never got to do anything!”

  “There are people who would say that was heaven,” Brian said, dryly.

  “Not me,” Abigail said. She crossed her arms. “I just wanted to get away and live my own life.”

  “And you ran right into trouble,” Brian pointed out. “The world is a dangerous place.”

  “I never knew that,” Abigail said. “Do you know ... do you know what happened, when I reached Sin City? I was mugged!”

  “Yeah,” Brian said. “And I’ll bet good money you weren't taking care as you walked around.”

  Abigail sneered at him. “What are you going to tell my parents?”

  “The truth,” Brian said.

  “That’s what always happens,” Abigail said. “I tell the staff something ... my mother hears it by the end of the day. I couldn’t confide in anyone. And you’re just the same! You’re going to tell my parents what I told you and they won’t listen!”

  “You’ll be an adult soon,” Brian told her. “And you can make your own decisions.”

  “Except I just proved I can't,” Abigail said.

  The radio crackled. Brian glanced down at it in surprise, then peered out the window. A pair of men in spacesuits were walking towards the van, one of them holding a laser transmitter in his hand. Brian’s eyes narrowed, a moment before he realised that they were both wearing military spacesuits. Behind them, he could see a Luna APV, barely visible against the grey landscape. It didn't look threatening, but that could change in a heartbeat.

  “Open the hatch,” the radio said. “Do not reply.”

  “They must be concerned about signal leakage,” Brian said. It wasn't a good sign. His experience was police, rather than military, but even he knew that the high orbitals were insecure if people were worried about stray radio transmissions. “Stay here.”

  “Yes, boss,” Abigail said, as Brian rose. “Should I put my helmet on?”

  “Keep it on your lap,” Brian said. He suspected it was pointless - if the soldiers wanted to punch through the van’s thin armour, they could - but she was at least thinking along the right lines. “I’ll cycle the hatch for them.”

  One man stayed outside, leaning against the van’s sides. The other stepped through the airlock, removing his helmet as soon as he was inside the van. Brian allowed himself a moment of relief as he saw the Luna Federation Defence Force uniform, even though he still didn't know what was happening. The LFDF might want to confiscate the van for military use.

  “I’m Corporal Littleton,” the newcomer said. He looked younger than Brian had expected, although that probably shouldn't have surprised him on the moon. Abigail aside, children were expected to grow up fast. “And you are?”

  “Brian Wheeler,” Brian said. He dug into the suit for his ID. “We escaped from Sin City and came here.”

  “There’s nothing left here,” Littleton said. He scanned Brian’s ID quickly, then frowned. “What’s at Sin City?”

  “The colony has been largely vented,” Brian said. Their guest didn't seem to want to check Abigail’s ID. That suggested the situation was worse than he’d feared. “There were some survivors in the shelters who need help.”

  “If there’s anyone on hand to do it,” Littleton said. “I’ll pass the word, but right now we’re pushed to the limit. I don’t know if anyone can be spared to check Sin City.”

  He looked grim. “How long can you stay in this van?”

  “Around six weeks, assuming nothing fails,” Brian said. He had no idea if anything would fail. Sin City’s maintenance definitely left something to be desired. “Why?”

  “Right now, the whole situation is chaotic,” Littleton said. “You would be well advised to find a quiet space and hunker down there and wait. The all-clear will be sounded once the system is clear.”

  Brian blinked, then looked up. “What ... what happened up there?”

  “Chaos,” Littleton said, flatly. “Aliens attacked ... two-thirds of the lunar defence stations are gone, apparently. The last report said that Earth itself was under attack. Right now, we have orders to keep radio transmissions to an absolute minimum. I couldn't swear to anything up there.”

  “Shit,” Brian said. He looked up at the unblinking stars. “We could stay and help?”

  “Probably not,” Littleton said. He looked around the van, then shrugged. “Go find somewhere to hide and stay there. You’ll hear the all-clear when it’s safe to come out.”


  “We could drive directly to my parent’s home,” Abigail said.

  Littleton gave her a sharp look, as if he hadn't noticed her until she opened her mouth. “I don’t know what you’d find,” he said, sharply. “How fast can this thing go, anyway?”

  Brian nodded shortly, conceding the unspoken point. It would take weeks to reach Clarke Colony, assuming the wretched van held out that long. And there was no way to know what they’d find when they finally got there. He wanted to stay and help, but he rather suspected they'd just get in the way. Better to do as Littleton suggested and find a place to hide.

  “Not fast enough,” he said. “Do you have any links to the datanet?”

  “Strictly for military use only,” Littleton said. He turned back to the hatch. “I heard tell that Braidburn Colony was unharmed, but that was over two hours ago. I don't know if that’s still true.”