Fear God and Dread Naught

by Christopher Nuttall

  “The bastard vomited over the chair,” one of the marines said. “You want me to clean it up?”

  George was tempted, but she shook her head. She was the shuttle pilot. It was her responsibility. She’d clean it up as soon as she got back to Vanguard, before being ordered to take another flight down to the surface or - more likely - being told to take a nap. Regs limited just how long a pilot could spend on active duty and she was very definitely pushing the limits. But as long as there were refugees down on the surface, the operational tempo would have to be maintained.

  “We’re due to dock in two minutes,” she said. “I’ll deal with it then.”

  A platoon of marines was waiting outside the hatch when she docked, led by Corporal Christopher Byron. He winked cheerfully at her, as she went to clean up the mess, then spoke quietly to the marines who were already on the shuttle. George couldn't hear what he said, but they saluted him the moment he finished and hurried through the hatch.

  “You’ll be taking us down to the surface,” Byron said. “Your orders should have already arrived.”

  George nodded and walked back to the pilot’s seat, dropping the filthy cloth in the recycler as she passed. There would be time to wash the rest of the shuttle later, once she returned to the ship. The Senior Chief wouldn't be pleased at the smell, but there was nothing she could do about it. Her orders were waiting for her, as Byron had said; drop the platoon at the spaceport, then take a final load of refugees to the transport.

  “Take your seats,” she ordered, as she checked the ever-updating orbital map. “We leave in two minutes.”

  “Understood,” Byron said.

  ***

  “Local space is getting crowded, Captain,” Charlotte observed. “There’s a lot of sensor clutter out there.”

  Susan nodded, ruefully. Unity’s orbital space had been nearly deserted when the task force arrived, but it was a very different story now. Hundreds of shuttles were making their way to and from the planet, dozens of automated orbital weapons platforms were being placed in orbit and several squadrons of starfighters were flying constant CSP formations around the planet. If the aliens had glanced at Unity from a distance and decided the planet was uninhabited - which struck her as unlikely - they certainly wouldn’t make that mistake now.

  “Make sure you catalogue it all,” she ordered, firmly. It was hard enough watching for cloaked starships without hundreds of pieces of space junk that could confuse sensors and send operators scurrying in search of starships that weren't there. “We can at least try to avoid problems.”

  But better safe than sorry, her own thoughts warned her. If we miss something, we’ll have cause to regret it.

  She settled back into her chair, watching as the display constantly updated itself. There were so many shuttles moving through local space that it was a miracle there hadn't been an accident, particularly when the ATC was a makeshift piece of crap. She would have preferred to run everything from orbit, but the groundpounders had insisted on operating the system themselves. It made sense, she supposed. And yet, if the task force had to leave, the groundpounders would have to go quiet. A single betraying radio emission would attract a KEW.

  “We got the latest report from the freighters, Captain,” Parkinson said. “They saw nothing, apparently.”

  Susan nodded. She'd wondered why the two freighters had remained in the system and now she had her answer. Their long-term contracts kept them there, even though there was no hope of earning enough money to buy out their ships. The crews were demoralised - she’d heard that several of them had attempted to offer their services to Admiral Harper - and their commanders the dregs of the merchant marine.

  Bloody bureaucrats, she thought. She just couldn't understand their logic. Was it really so important that we had a space-based presence orbiting Unity?

  She pushed the thought aside as she checked the latest series of readiness reports. There had been a definite improvement over the last few days, although that might have had something to do with the soldiers being moved down to the surface. But she knew what would happen if they kept running endless exercises. Her crew would eventually lose their edge ...

  “Captain,” Charlotte said. “I’ve got something odd on the passive sensor network.”

  Susan felt a flicker of alarm as she rose. “Show me,” she ordered, striding over to the sensor console. There was a faint haze on the main display, suggesting trouble. Alerts were already flashing through the network. “What is ...?”

  Red icons flickered into existence on the display. “Incoming missiles,” Jean Granger snapped. “I say again, incoming missiles!”

  “Red alert,” Susan snapped, whirling back towards her chair. She tapped her wristcom as she moved, opening a priority channel. “Set condition-one throughout the ship! This is no drill; I say again, this is no drill!”

  She sat down as more red icons appeared. “Stand by all point defence,” she ordered. This was definitely no drill. Thankfully, they’d been ready for something. They hadn't been caught with their pants around their ankles. “And lock us into the task force command net!”

  “Aye, Captain,” Granger said. Her fingers darted over her console. “Point defence armed, ready to fire; kinetic buckshot armed, ready to fire!”

  And here we go, Susan thought.

  ***

  George swore as the display filled with red icons, seconds before alerts started popping up in front of her. The alien timing had been diabolical. They’d opened their offensive just as she was entering the planet’s atmosphere, forcing her to decide between plunging down to the surface - and risking being trapped - or trying to make her way back to the ship, knowing she might be blown out of space by a passing starfighter at any moment. And then a missile detonated far too close to her ...

  “Hang on,” she snapped. She wasn't sure how the enemy had managed to slip so many missiles so close to the task force, but it hardly mattered at the moment. “We’re going down!”

  A second warhead detonated near the shuttle, sending a wave of electromagnetic disruption through space. More red lights flared up in front of her as a number of systems failed, one by one. George fought for control as the shuttle started to plummet ...

  ... And fell towards the planet, far below.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Enemy vessels coming out of cloak, Captain,” Charlotte reported. “I’m picking up thirty-seven ships, including five battleships.”

  Susan cursed under her breath. The aliens had them outgunned, without the planned network of orbital and ground-based defensive platforms. Their timing had been perfect, suggesting that they'd been watching Unity for some time ... or treachery. She didn't think that any human would side with the aliens, but it was vaguely possible ...

  Worry about it later, she told herself. We are at war.

  “Deploy additional sensor drones,” she ordered. The aliens had made it far too close to the planet - and had even launched missiles on ballistic trajectories - without being detected. It said worrying things about their capabilities. “Prepare to move us out of orbit.”

  She glanced at the fleet command display and cursed under her breath. The aliens had definitely caught the squadron with their pants down, threatening to trap them against the planet if they didn't move swiftly. But Admiral Harper had yet to assume command, even though the fleet command network had gone active the moment the enemy had opened fire. Was he in bed? Should she assume command herself?

  “Signal from the flag,” Parkinson reported. “The task force is to assume beta-seven formation; I say again, beta-seven formation.”

  Shit, Susan thought. Beta-seven gave Harper the widest possible range of options, but it also forced him to set course away from the planet. If they’d had time to deploy all of the orbital defences, the aliens would have had a hard time securing the high orbitals ... she shook her head, dismissing the thought. There was no point in crying over spilt milk. Unity is already on its own.

  “Take us to our
position within the formation,” she ordered. “And stand by to repel attack.”

  The enemy ships opened fire, launching two- or three-stage missiles towards the human ships. Susan wasn't sure why they bothered - the point defence computers had plenty of time to track the missiles and determine the appropriate countermeasures - but she had to admit it made their point. And besides, they might have improved their bomb-pumped laser warheads again.

  Or they might not have realised that we’ve improved our point defence, she told herself, as a solid wall of red icons closed in on the task force. They may assume that they will be thrashing us from beyond our effective point defence range.

  “Picking up a new trajectory from the flag,” Parkinson reported. “Starfighters are being deployed now.”

  “The enemy doesn't appear to have deployed starfighters of his own,” Granger added. “I don’t think any of their starships are actually carriers.”

  Susan shrugged. The enemy had presumably analysed the first engagements as intensely as JHQ, back on Earth. They had to know that their starfighters were inferior; they had to assume that they’d be wiped out in large numbers if they were matched against a human force. Or they might not have had any carriers on hand when they deployed their fleet. If they’d caught a sniff of the task force making its way towards Unity, they might just have decided to launch a spoiling attack with whatever they had on hand.

  She sucked in her breath as the Russian and French starfighters lurched forward, half the fighters targeting the missiles before they entered attack range while the remainder headed towards the enemy ships, hoping to launch attack runs against their drives. She suspected the starfighters were about to take heavy losses - the enemy point defence was just as good as humanity’s - but there was no choice. The enemy had a very definite firepower advantage.

  “Enemy missiles entering point defence range,” Granger reported. “Buckshot weapons engaging ... now.”

  Susan leaned forward, watching the display as enemy missiles began to vanish. The buckshot projectiles weren't very large, but at the speeds the missiles were travelling a small marble would be more than enough to vaporise them. They started to perform evasive manoeuvres as the warhead command network realised that they were under attack, yet it wasn't enough to save dozens more. Only a handful of missiles reached attack range and detonated.

  Vanguard shuddered as laser beams stabbed into her hull, but the armour absorbed the blow without even blinking. Susan allowed herself a tight smile - the time they’d spent modifying the hull plating hadn't been wasted - and then cursed under her breath as the enemy launched another barrage of missiles. This time, they seemed to be constantly altering their positions ... unless they’d made a real drive breakthrough, part of her mind noted, they were going to be reducing their own range quite sharply. But the range was constantly shortening anyway.

  “The first wave of starfighters is returning to the carriers,” Granger said, quietly. “The CSP is providing cover.”

  Susan nodded. The Russian pilots had killed two enemy cruisers - and the French had given an enemy battleship one hell of a beating - but they’d paid heavily for their success. A third of the starfighters had been blown out of space, while two more were drifting towards the planet’s atmosphere, their pilots either knocked out or dead. They wouldn’t survive re-entry, Susan knew. Starfighters simply weren't designed to enter a planet’s atmosphere under their own power. The last attempt to build a workable aerospace fighter had resulted in a design that couldn't hold its own against craft built for one of the two environments.

  She said a silent prayer for the pilots - the carriers would presumably dispatch SAR shuttles, if the aliens didn't blow them out of space - and then turned back to the main display as the enemy ships entered missile range. Orders flickered up from the flag, ordering all three battleships to open fire; she snapped orders herself, then watched as a barrage of missiles roared towards the alien ships. It was useless, she suspected - the aliens were already moving their smaller ships forward to boost their point defence - but at least it would warn them to keep their distance.

  “Enemy missiles entering attack range,” Granger warned. “Detonating ...”

  Vanguard lurched, badly, as an x-ray laser stabbed into her hull. Susan cursed - deliberately or not, the aliens had struck an already-damaged section of the hull - then tapped her console, detailing damage control teams to do what they could. Reports from the analysis sections, already blinking up in front of her, suggested that the aliens were trying to take out the turrets in hopes of crippling the ship before they entered energy weapons range. They’d been taught respect for Vanguard’s main guns during the last engagement, she knew. She would have been surprised if the enemy hadn't tried to cripple her before it was too late.

  “Signal from the flag,” Parkinson reported. “The task force is to move to gamma-four; I say again, gamma-four.”

  Susan exchanged glances with Mason. If Harper had decided to move to gamma-four, it meant that he intended to go on a raiding mission rather than either try to retake the Unity System or harry the enemy from a safe distance. It was the aggressive posture she wanted, although with so many enemy ships nearby it had more than its fair share of dangers. And it would make it easier for the forces on the ground to scatter before the enemy secured the high orbitals and started to drop KEWs.

  The farmers are well-prepared to go to ground, she thought, grimly. Even knowing what they were looking for, the orbital analysts hadn't been able to pick out more than ten percent of the smaller homesteads. The bigger ones had been obvious - they’d have to be evacuated before the aliens arrived - but the smaller ones were well-hidden. But if the aliens land a few hundred thousand troops, they’re in deep shit.

  “Hold us in position,” she ordered. The enemy ships were moving closer, their capital ships advancing while their lighter ships were reducing speed. She thought she detected an odd reluctance in their movements, although she had no way to be sure. It was certainly the smart thing to do. Main guns capable of thrashing a battleship wouldn't have any problems blowing a smaller ship out of space. “Are the carriers taking up their positions?”

  “Aye, Captain,” Granger said. “Enemy ships will be in energy weapons range in less than ten minutes.”

  Susan waited, feeling sweat running down her back. The tactical situation had suddenly become very simple. Vanguard - and the other two battleships - had to hold the line long enough for the carriers to put some distance between themselves and the enemy ships. But the enemy, by contrast, would try to take advantage of the manoeuvre to pound Vanguard and her sisters to scrap before they could escape themselves. And they had enough ships to chase the human ship as well as lay siege to the planet.

  Mason caught her attention. “Captain, Midshipwoman Fitzwilliam’s shuttle went down,” he said, quietly. “She was transporting marines to the surface.”

  “Duly noted,” Susan said, grimly. There was nothing to be done, not when the task force was already thrusting away from the planet. “If she made it down ...”

  She glanced at the display, hoping for insight, but space around the planet had become a blur of electronic fuzz. The aliens had devised their own versions of disrupter warheads and deployed them in vast numbers, despite the risk of jamming their own systems. She had to admit that it had paid off for them. Most military technology was hardened against EMP and other forms of electronic disruption, but there were too many exceptions. Active and passive sensors were easy to disrupt, if one was prepared to pay the price.

  She might have made it down, she told herself. It was a bitter thought. She’d seen something of herself in George Fitzwilliam. And besides, the First Space Lord would not be pleased to learn that his niece had been killed on active duty. And if she didn't, we will probably never find the body.

  The seconds ticked away as the two fleets converged. She couldn't help noticing that the aliens were keeping their smaller ships to the front, even though there was no way their
point defence could stop Vanguard’s main guns. It made no sense, unless they expected her to pull another blunderbuss stunt. But even then, it was unlikely they could save their ships from a very nasty blow. They’d have to be at practically point-blank range ...

  And they would never survive so close to our guns, Susan thought, vindictively. Even our secondary armament would make mincemeat of them.

  “Raise the flag,” she ordered. The range was steadily closing. “Admiral, I suggest that we target the smaller ships in our first barrage. Stripping them away from the enemy fleet will make it easier to break contact.”

  There was a long pause. “Tactical fleet orders are being updated, Captain,” Granger said. “I think he heard you.”

  “Confirmed,” Parkinson said. “We are ordered to open fire as soon as the enemy ships enter range.”

  “Then lock weapons on target,” Susan ordered. The flag was already designating targets, making sure that two battleships didn't waste their opening barrage by targeting the same ship. “And prepare to fire.”