It was nearly an hour before the rain finally started to slow to a trickle, although the clouds were black with impending rain. Molly let out a sigh of relief and started the engine, driving down a road that had turned into a river. Water splashed up around her as she passed a farm, a handful of miserable-looking sheep turning their heads to look at her as she drove by. A farmhouse was clearly visible in the distance. Molly thought about trying to turn up the driveway and ask for help, but she doubted they’d loan her an ATV. The farmers would need everything they had just to tend to their sodden fields and drowning animals.
Poor little lambs, she thought. She’d thrown a fit when she’d finally made the connection between farm animals and the meat on her table. Her lips quirked. She’d been nine at the time, but she’d never realised just how tolerant her parents had been until Penny had done the same thing. They’ll be killed and eaten soon enough.
Her heart raced faster as she followed the road up the hillside. The trees started to close in, again, as she climbed higher. She gritted her teeth as the car started to slip backwards, the wheels struggling to find purchase on a rapidly-decaying road. The farmer’s track might be unwatched, she thought sourly, but it was dangerous. Her borrowed car was having real problems ... she cursed out loud as she fell into a rut, gunning the engine desperately to get out. The car lurched backwards and forwards for a long moment before she finally managed to escape. There were so many ruts in the ground - all filled with water - that steering around them was almost impossible.
She guided the car around a bend in the road, then slammed on the brakes. A large tree was lying flat on the road, blocking her way east. Molly cursed, then looked up - sharply - as she heard someone shouting. Three men in striped uniforms were racing towards the car, their expressions hungry. Molly thrust the car backwards, only to crash into a rut. They caught up with her before she could escape, tearing the door open and throwing her onto the muddy ground.
“Food,” one of them said. “She brought food!”
“How nice of her,” another said. He yanked Molly to her feet. “We’re very pleased.”
Molly stared at him, numbly. Striped uniforms meant chain gang workers, if she recalled correctly. She’d had a friend at school who’d been given the choice between jail or the chain gang. He’d been a loudmouthed ass, but he’d come back a changed man. And he’d never really talked about it.
Fuck, she thought, as they frisked her roughly and then tied her hands. What now?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Interplanetary Space
The intercom beeped, once.
Captain Svetlana Zadornov jerked awake, one hand going to her pistol. She thought - she was fairly sure - that none of her crew would do something stupid during a battle, but there was no way to be certain. An engagement would make an ideal opportunity to do something stupid and cover it up, if the KGB didn't ask too many questions. She listened for a long moment, making sure she was alone, then sat upright and tapped her bedside terminal.
“Report,” she ordered.
“Captain,” the tactical officer said. His voice was artfully flat. No doubt he was relishing the brief opportunity to take command, with both the captain and XO resting. “The enemy fleet is reducing speed.”
Svetlana frowned. “Are they still on course for Jupiter?”
“Yes, Captain,” the tactical officer said. “They haven't altered course.”
But they could be trying to lure Home Fleet into a knife-range engagement, Svetlana thought, as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her body didn't feel that refreshed. A quick look at the chronometer told her that she’d only slept for four hours. If the fleet tries to catch the aliens too hard, it might actually succeed.
“Keep us close to them,” she ordered. In theory, Home Fleet had the edge; in practice, the odds might well favour the other side. “Is there any sign they’ve detected us?”
“No, Captain,” the tactical officer said.
Of course not, Svetlana thought, coldly. She slipped on her jacket, then returned the pistol to her holster. The first sign they’ve detected us would be a missile slamming into our hull.
“I’m on my way,” she said. “Have the steward bring coffee to the bridge.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Svetlana’s lips twitched as the connection broke. Having coffee on the bridge would probably be taken as a sign of weakness, but she had no choice. The enemy fleet was reducing speed, which meant they were probably planning something ... she’d need to be in her command chair, if all hell broke loose. Even if the aliens were rethinking their approach to Jupiter, Svetlana needed to stay close to them to keep Home Fleet abreast of the alien movements.
She checked her appearance in the mirror, then walked through the hatch and strode up to the bridge. The tactical officer was sitting at his console, rather than occupying the command chair. Svetlana’s lips twitched in disapproval - whoever had the bridge was supposed to sit in the command chair, just to make it clear who had the conn - but there was no point in making an issue of it now. A fleet carrier would have a couple of dozen tactical staffers who could have handled the tactical console. Brezhnev did not. The tactical officer’s three staffers lacked his experience.
“The aliens are still reducing speed,” the tactical officer reported. “Home Fleet is steadily gaining on them. They’ll be in starfighter range in forty minutes if the relative speeds remain constant.”
Svetlana nodded, tartly. It did look as though the aliens wanted to lure Home Fleet into a dogfight, far enough from Jupiter or Earth that Home Fleet would have to stand and fight alone. But the aliens were alien. It was possible they were reconsidering the rush to Jupiter or even contemplating immediate withdrawal from the system. They had to be concerned about reinforcements rushing to Earth from Washington or Britannia.
“Keep us in their blindspot,” she ordered. She sat down in her chair, silently contemplating the problem. The hell of it was that she didn't know if the aliens still had a blindspot. They certainly weren't trying to hide any longer. Their active sensors were sweeping space near their hulls with a thoroughness she could only admire. “Are they launching starfighters?”
“No, Captain,” the tactical officer said. “They’ve rotated around five or six squadrons through their CSP, but they haven't made any attempt to launch their remaining craft.”
Not that they’d need them to deal with us, Svetlana thought. A handful of missiles would be more than sufficient.
She took a mug of coffee from the steward and sipped it, gratefully. It was thick, more like sludge than actual liquid. There had been a time when she’d detested naval coffee, but she’d grown to like it over the years. American or British coffee just didn't have the same kick. It was a shame the steward hadn't added a shot of vodka or even shipboard rotgut, but she knew better than to drink on duty. She had to set a good example. Alcoholism was a chronic problem in the Russian Navy - all the more so after the Battle of New Russia - but it couldn’t be allowed to interfere with operational readiness. She’d have flogged anyone stupid enough to drink on duty to within an inch of his life, then send him back to Earth with a blistering report that ensured he spent the rest of his life counting trees in Siberia.
The vectors weren't hard to follow. Assuming the aliens continued at their current speed, they’d reach Jupiter in ninety minutes. The Io Detachment was waiting for them, according to the last update, but Svetlana doubted the squadron would do more than slow the aliens down. The handful of mass drivers on Io, Ganymede and Europa would probably do more damage, if the aliens came within effective range. But they’d be watching for mass drivers now they knew how dangerous they could be.
And if they keep reducing speed, they’ll come to a halt within thirty minutes, she thought, running through the calculations in her head. And that will force Home Fleet to decide if it wants to push the issue or not.
She scowled. The idea of leaving a formidable alien force alone, as it skulked around
the single most important system in the Human Sphere, didn't sit well with her. She couldn't imagine any halfway competent commanding officer thinking it was a good idea, either. And yet, she had to admit it did have its advantages. The aliens presumably couldn't lurk in the solar system forever.
They wouldn't have to, she thought. They’d wear us down just by sitting there.
She finished her coffee, passed the mug back to the steward with a nod and then leaned forward. “Keep a passive sensor watch on them,” she ordered. “And prepare to yank us back if they start to reverse course.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Svetlana nodded, then sat back to wait.
***
The Combat Faction was, for the first time since encountering the armoured carrier, unsure how best to proceed.
The advantages of attacking and destroying the human facilities orbiting the gas giant - and the ground-based installations on its moons - remained obvious. Much of their earlier logic remained intact. The war might be won if they smashed the cloudscoops, then retreated before the humans could catch up with them. And yet, the enemy force was pursuing the fleet with a single-minded obsession that the various factions found more than a little disquieting.
They may be trying to drive us against the gas giant’s defences, one analyst faction insisted.
It is impossible to assess the strength of those defences, another faction added.
They may not exist at all, a third faction countered. The humans were not expecting to fight a major war.
They prepared for a civil war, the first faction pointed out. Surely, their factions would have assumed that their enemies would strike at the gas giants?
The Combat Faction seethed with displeasure. Humans were ... alien. They settled disputes between their factions by force, rather than talking them out. The whole idea of ‘nations’ bemused the Tadpoles, leaving many of the analyst factions to wonder if their translations were rather less accurate than they’d assumed. All the human wars seemed petty and pointless, the atrocities they committed on each other even more so. It was a grim reminder of the reason behind this war, if nothing else. The idea of sharing the galaxy with a race as violent and fundamentally aggressive as humanity was not pleasing.
But it still found itself in a bind. Pushing the offensive seemed the smart choice, yet ... yet it could be a trap. Moving carefully seemed the best solution, but the human fleet was snapping at its rear. There was no time to move carefully, which might be what the humans wanted. A mistake now could cost too many ships that couldn’t be replaced in a hurry.
We could turn and engage the human ships, the analyst faction pointed out. They would suffer worse losses.
The Song rose as the idea grew stronger. Reversing course and engaging the human ships seemed a good idea. The humans were good - better than the factions had realised, when they’d made the decision to go to war - but it would take years to replace their carriers, if they were destroyed. Or would it? What if they were wrong? Taking out the cloudscoops might seem to be the better idea after all.
We will alter course, marginally, the Combat Faction decided. And allow them to catch up with us, if they wish.
***
“They’re reducing speed, but continuing on a direct route to Jupiter,” Admiral Robertson said, as Admiral Jonathan Winters strode into the CIC. “I think they’re trying to lure us into a close-range engagement.”
“Which would give them the edge,” Jon said. He felt better, after several hours of sleep, but the battle wasn't over yet. “Do you want to reduce our own speed to keep the range open?”
He felt a flicker of sympathy for Admiral Robertson. Engaging the aliens would give him a chance to break their fleet - and, perhaps, allow him to score a decisive victory - but it also ran the risk of immense losses. They were still too far from Jupiter for the mass drivers to play a major role in any engagement. The aliens might even know they were there, he considered. Reducing speed would make it easier for them to detect and avoid any incoming projectiles.
“I think we have no choice, for the moment,” Admiral Robertson said. “We don’t want to engage them without support from Jupiter.”
“If the aliens reverse course, you won’t have a choice,” Jon pointed out. “Or if they circle Jupiter and then try to rush back to Earth.”
“I doubt they have the speed to do that in any meaningful sense,” Admiral Robertson said, wryly. “Hiding behind Jupiter isn't going to work, even if they didn't have to worry about the mass drivers taking pot-shots at them.”
Jon nodded, slowly. “That gives them only two options,” he said. “Plunge into orbit or try to hurl KEWs from outside the mass drivers’ effective range.”
He keyed the console, running a handful of simulations. The cloudscoops were fragile, but heavily protected with a combination of passive and active defences. The aliens wouldn't find it easy to score a direct hit, not with every eye orbiting Jupiter watching them. Jupiter was surrounded by debris, from chunks of ice to metallic asteroids that were slowly being mined for resources, but nowhere near enough to blind watching eyes. That didn't happen outside bad movies. There were enough installations orbiting Jupiter and its moons to ensure that the defenders saw everything approaching their system.
Admiral Robertson scowled as the simulations came to an end. “They can be fairly sure of scoring hits if they take up position and just keep firing,” he said. “But that would expose them to us.”
“Yes,” Jon said. “And they’d know it, too.”
What would he do, he asked himself, if he was in such a situation? He’d certainly try to force the enemy into a fleet action, knowing there was a reasonable chance of victory. But there was no way to know if the Tadpoles agreed. He cursed, not for the first time, the sheer lack of intelligence on their foes. How badly would they be hurt, really, if this entire fleet was smashed?
“The enemy fleet is reducing speed again,” Admiral Robertson commented, grimly. “I’ll reduce our own speed to match.”
Jon opened his mouth to countermand him, then closed it without saying a word. He hadn't assumed command of Home Fleet, after all. Besides, Admiral Robertson might not be wrong. He was the only man in the solar system who could lose the war in an afternoon, if he pushed the offensive too hard. But letting the aliens waltz around the solar system wasn't an option either.
They may be hoping that we’ll pull our ships from the front, he thought, although he doubted it was probable. And that would allow them to open up other routes to Washington, Terra Nova and Earth herself.
He shook his head, dismissing the thought. The Tadpoles might be alien, but they weren't stupid. They couldn't handle a simultaneous offensive across multiple star systems ... could they? There was no sign they could communicate at FTL speeds, any more than their human opponents. But they might have told their commanders to watch for an opportunity for some aggressive raiding at their own discretion. And yet ...
“We might want to prepare for starfighter strikes,” he said. “We should have a numerical advantage. It's high time we used it.”
“If they weren't concealing more starfighters inside their carriers,” Admiral Robertson said, dryly. He smiled. “But that doesn't seem too likely.”
Jon nodded. Starfighters that were held back, when their mothership was destroyed, were no good to anyone. It was why fleet carriers practiced launching all their fighters as fast as possible, even when there was no apparent danger. God knew there was no evidence the Tadpoles disagreed. The combination of Home Fleet’s own starfighters and the starfighters they’d recovered from Earth should give them an advantage. But he would have hated to take it for granted.
“Hold back a sizable reserve,” he advised. “They’ll try to strike back at us.”
“We’ll let them get closer to Jupiter first,” Admiral Robertson said. “The Io Detachment should be in position by now.”
Should, Jon thought, grimly. Coordinating an operation across interplanetary distances wasn�
�t exactly impossible, but it was difficult. Too many things could go wrong. I guess we’re about to find out.
***
Captain Ginny Saito opened her eyes.
For a moment, she was utterly disoriented. She was in a sleeping tube ... but not the one she used on Pournelle Base. Where was she? And then she remembered. The Tadpoles had attacked Earth, Pournelle Base had been destroyed and she’d landed on Enterprise. She’d fought a long battle ...
She fumbled for the opening switch and keyed it, breathing a sigh of relief as the tube opened without hesitation. She’d been locked in one during basic training, an exercise that straddled the borderline between extensive testing and outright sadism. It was important to find out if a pilot suffered from claustrophobia, she'd been told, but a starfighter cockpit allowed its occupant to see out. The tubes were isolated and sealed.
The Longest Day (Ark Royal X) Page 29