Fear God and Dread Naught

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Looks like it,” Susan agreed. The alien carrier was spitting out pulse after pulse of point defence fire, despite its fighters trying desperately to damage or destroy a number of human ships. It certainly seemed to be heavily armoured, perhaps more heavily armoured than a Theodore Smith-class carrier. The Russians simply weren't making much of an impact on her hull. “Mark her down for targeting if she comes into range.”

  She glanced at the tactical display as the alien ships converged on the task force. The alien battleships had moved apart, clearly intending to pass between the human battleships while pounding at their hulls. It wasn't a tactic Susan would have cared to use, but it would give them a chance to inflict a staggering amount of damage in a relatively short space of time ... at least until they were destroyed. Each of their ships would be exposed to the fire of at least two human battleships.

  “Enemy vessels will enter missile range in five minutes, energy weapons range in ten,” Granger reported. “Captain?”

  “Hold the missiles until they are closer,” Susan ordered. “They’ll just be picked off if we open fire at this range.”

  The last of the seconds ticked away as the Russian starfighters wheeled about and fled back to their carrier, their numbers depleted by a third. Susan frowned as the tactical datanet tallied the damage, realising that the aliens hadn't lost more than a handful of their point defence weapons. Enough to be annoying, true, but hardly enough to be fatal. And their main guns were as heavily armoured as Vanguard’s own turrets. The starfighters hadn't managed to inflict more than scratches on their paint.

  We’re going to need to devise new torpedoes, Susan thought, grimly. Something that makes the starfighters more than gadflies to battleships.

  “Enemy ships entering energy range,” Granger reported. “They’re locked onto us.”

  “Open fire,” Susan ordered.

  Vanguard unleashed a spray of plasma fire, flashing through space and slamming into the nearest alien battleship. The aliens opened fire at the same moment, their fire crashing into Vanguard’s hull. Susan glanced at the status display and allowed herself a moment of relief as their hasty repairs remained intact. The battleship might be in danger of losing most of its point defence and external sensor blisters, but the main body of her hull would survive.

  “The enemy ship is taking damage, but not enough,” Granger reported. “Their hull appears to be as strong as ours.”

  “Concentrate fire on their turrets,” Susan ordered. She barely noticed a starfighter - human or alien, she wasn't sure - fly into one of the streams of fire and vanish. The pilot would have died before realising his mistake. “See if you can shut down their weapons.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Granger said.

  Susan gripped her command chair as the entire ship started to shudder under the relentless bombardment, parts of the hull finally starting to give way under the strain. Mason barked commands, directing the damage control teams to some compartments and ordering others evacuated; Susan watched, grimly, as the alien ships grew closer. The entire battle had turned into a battering match and, although she was sure the humans would win the battle, the task force was going to be battered into uselessness.

  “The enemy carrier is launching missiles,” Granger reported. “They’re aimed at New York.”

  They must think the battleship’s point defence is gone, Susan thought. The aliens might well be right. New York’s point defence systems weren't any tougher than Vanguard’s. And if they do ...

  She leaned forward. “Launch missiles, blunderbuss pattern,” she snapped. “And ramp up the ECM as much as possible.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Granger said. “Missiles launched ... now.”

  Susan watched, bracing herself, as the aliens reacted - too late. Five of nine missiles were vaporised before they could do more than separate themselves from Vanguard, but the remaining four missiles detonated within seconds, blasting streams of deadly energy into the alien battleship. Susan watched, feeling a grim exultation, as the alien ship rolled over, desperately trying to shield the damaged portion of its hull even as she kept firing. But it wasn't enough to save them from a pounding as New York fired directly into her exposed hull, slamming pulse after pulse of plasma fire deep into the ship.

  “The enemy battleship is losing power,” Granger reported. She frowned. “Captain, the other battleship is moving up in support.”

  “Concentrate fire on the second ship,” Susan ordered. The aliens were pushing forward, ramping up their drives well past the maximum safe levels ... she swore, inwardly, as she realised what they had in mind. “Communications, alert New York. They’re going to ram!”

  It was too late. All three battleships were now pounding on the alien ship, but it kept moving forward with a stately inevitability that chilled Susan to the bone. New York had barely begun its evasive manoeuvre when the alien battleship slammed directly into her hull, overloading her drives and weapons at the same moment. Susan watched, in growing horror, as a chain of explosions tore both ships apart, sending chunks of debris spinning off in all directions. She’d watched footage of the final flight of Ark Royal, over a decade ago, but this was worse. Far worse ...

  “New York is gone,” Granger said, hoarsely. “Captain ...”

  “I know,” Susan snapped. There hadn't been time for New York to launch lifepods. It was possible, vaguely possible, that there were survivors, but if Admiral Harper had survived he was completely out of contact. “Inform the datanet that I have assumed command, then order Indianapolis to continue firing on the alien battleship.”

  She watched, grimly, as the alien ship tried desperately to evade their fire, but her main drives were gone. A human ship would be trying to surrender, she thought; the aliens, it seemed, were determined to keep firing even as their ship was torn apart. The remainder of their ships moved closer, one attempting to ram Vanguard only to be vaporised by a salvo from her main guns. And then the alien ship lost power completely and went dead.

  “Cease fire,” Susan ordered, sharply. “I say again ...”

  The alien ship exploded. Susan wondered, for a long moment, if one of the last shots had hit something vital, then decided that it was more likely that the aliens had triggered the self-destruct, rather than risk something important falling into human hands. Human ships were designed to purge and destroy their databanks before surrendering - if only to render the ship useless - but the battleship had taken immensely heavy damage. The aliens might have believed, not unreasonably, that they couldn't guarantee that their ship’s secrets would be safely destroyed.

  And even a look at their ship would tell us a great deal about them, she thought, as the debris field expanded rapidly. But they didn't even launch lifepods!

  “The enemy carrier is reversing course,” Granger reported. “She's recovering her starfighters.”

  “Pursuit course,” Susan snapped. She was damned if she was letting the carrier slip away, after losing New York and Admiral Harper. The task force had taken one hell of a battering, but it had won the day. “And signal the planet. Inform them that the skies are clear.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Parkinson said.

  He paused. “Captain Yegorovich is requesting permission to launch his own starfighters in pursuit.”

  Susan hesitated. There was no reason to think that Vanguard and Indianapolis couldn't smash the enemy carrier between them. She might need Yegorovich’s starfighters for the next engagement, if the enemy reinforcements arrived before hers. Yegorovich wanted glory, yet he and his pilots had done more than their fair share during the campaign.

  “Denied,” she said, finally. “The starfighters are to return to their carriers and prepare for antishipping strikes.”

  She glanced at Unity on the display, then returned her attention to the enemy carrier. If all had gone according to plan, the marines - and the other groundpounders - would be attacking the enemy garrison now, forcing it to keep its head down. Once the enemy carrier was gone, the task force wou
ld return to Unity and reclaim the high orbitals. If the enemy refused to surrender afterwards - even when they had been clearly beaten - she’d pound them into scrap from orbit. The marines had made it clear that the aliens didn't seem to have landed anything that could target her ships.

  “Captain Yegorovich doesn't sound pleased,” Parkinson said. “But he has accepted your orders.”

  Susan nodded, curtly. Yegorovich hadn't liked her when they’d first met - and he probably still didn't like her - but at least he was professional enough to follow orders. She gave him credit for that, at least, as she watched the enemy carrier come slowly into range. It launched its starfighters again, as the battleships closed in, but it was already too late. There was no way they could hope to escape.

  “Broadcast a demand for surrender,” Susan ordered. The marine report had noted that the aliens had definitely learned some English. “Inform them that we will treat them well, if they surrender.”

  There was no response, save for the alien starfighters screaming closer, firing missiles as they closed in on their targets. Susan cursed, wondering just why the aliens were so reluctant to admit defeat. Didn't they know they were doomed? A carrier, no matter how armoured, couldn't stand up to a single battleship at knife-range, let alone two. There were just too many fragile places in her hull.

  “Open fire,” she ordered, quietly.

  The alien carrier opened fire itself, spitting defiance towards her tormentors as she writhed under their fire. Susan watched, grimly, as pieces of hull plating were blown off, plasma fire smashing through her recovery decks and obliterating her innards. A chain of explosions ran through her hull, eventually destroying the entire ship in a final savage explosion. The starfighters desperately tried to ram the human ships, but it was pointless. Susan allowed herself a moment of relief as the last of the starfighters vanished, then glanced at the main display. The battle was over.

  “Dispatch additional damage control teams to critical areas,” she ordered. “And then prepare to alter course ...”

  “Captain,” Charlotte said. “Long-range sensors are picking up two more alien battleships on an intercept course!”

  Susan swore. No wonder the carrier had tried to fight rather than surrender. She'd known that reinforcements were on the way. The battle wasn't over after all. And that meant ...

  “Alert the task force,” she ordered, grimly. Two battleships against two battleships ... it would have been a fair fight, if her battleships weren't already badly damaged. But getting out of the system before the aliens intercepted them might well be impossible. “Prepare to engage.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Parkinson said.

  Mason shot her a worried look. “Captain, we’re in no state for a fight.”

  “I know,” Susan said. The damage reports were still rolling in, yet it was already clear that her ship was going to need at least two months in a shipyard before she was ready for anything. “But can we get away from them?”

  She smiled, suddenly. “And besides,” she added, “I’ve just had an idea.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  George had always liked the dark.

  It wasn't something she could explain to anyone else, although she’d tried more than once when her mother had caught her out of bed in the middle of the night. There was just something about how the world looked different in the dark, something about how the most familiar things could become strange and eerie in the darkness. Sneaking through the estate in the dark had been an adventure, creeping around the school after Lights Out - and trying to slip into the male dorms - had merely added extra spice. But now, grimly aware that the aliens would be rushing to relieve their garrison, she thought she understood why so many others were scared of the dark. Anything could be out there, lurking in the shadows.

  She crouched low by the roadside, peering southwards. The aliens had taken over the spaceport for their garrison, landing enough troops and supplies to set up a near-impregnable command base. She rather doubted they were satisfied, given the amount of supplies they’d had to land in a very short space of time, but it would suffice - for the moment. And yet, the groundpounders - including her friends - were sneaking up to engage the enemy, unless something had gone badly wrong.

  And once the garrison comes under attack, the enemy outposts will send everything they have to break the siege, she thought, grimly. And we have to stop them.

  She glanced at her watch, feeling the butterflies in her stomach growing stronger. This wasn't an insurgent hit-and-run raid, this was a deliberate attempt to hold the line and force the aliens to bleed. She looked up at the stars, wondering just how many of them were alien starships and automated weapons platforms. If the aliens genuinely thought they were losing, they were likely to call hell down on the planet. Blowing up the entire settlement and calling it a draw might just suit their mindset.

  Depends which one of them is in charge, she reminded herself. Cows committed suicide when captured, it seemed; Foxes went submissive. A Fox might concede defeat and surrender.

  “Ten minutes,” a voice said, quietly. The man beside her looked nervous, although the darkness made it hard to be sure. “They’ll be ready, won’t they?”

  “They’re the best of the best,” George assured him. “If they can get into position to attack the garrison, they can do it.”

  She took another look along the darkened road, trying to pick out the emplaced heavy weapons and MANPAD teams. But she saw nothing. She hoped the aliens wouldn't see anything either, at least until it was far too late. And yet, she knew all too well that the aliens might just blast their way through the resistance barricade in their mad rush to reach the spaceport. They weren't likely to engage a tiny force when their garrison was under threat.

  “I hope you’re right,” the fighter said. “We’re gambling everything on this operation.”

  George nodded. The resistance had plenty of pistols and rifles, but they were very short on heavy weapons. No one had seen any need to supply the planet with anything heavier than a handful of automatic weapons. She suspected, cynically, that the policy was more intended to deter the colonists from rebelling than anything else, but it hardly mattered now. All that mattered was that they were gambling the handful of heavy weapons they did have on a single operation. If it failed, the resistance would be reduced to nothing more than a nuisance, at least until more supplies could be shipped to the planet.

  And they won’t be, George thought. There will always be somewhere more important than Unity.

  She looked north, just in time to see the illumination round explode over the spaceport, casting an eerie pearly white light over the scene. Byron had argued for attacking in darkness, but he’d been overruled by the American General, who’d pointed out that darkness actually favoured the Foxes more than the humans. Moments later, she heard gunfire echoing from the north, followed by flashes and flares as mortars strove to drop rounds into the heart of the enemy position. A bright light rose off the ground - a helicopter, she assumed - only to be swatted down by a MANPAD. Another made it higher before it too was blown out of the air.

  “It looks different from back here,” the fighter muttered.

  George shook her head. It was easy to pretend that it was just another Bonfire Night, but she knew that her friends were fighting and dying to keep the enemy pinned down. She couldn't see it as anything other than a bloody battle. God alone knew how many groundpounders had survived - no one had told her - but almost all of them had been assigned to the attack.

  “Hey,” someone called. “We have incoming!”

  George turned, just in time to see the shape of five alien vehicles racing along the road. They were completely unlit, but there was just enough light for her to see them as they drew closer and closer. She had to admit they’d done well to get out of the patrol base and race for the garrison, even though it was likely to cause her problems. But then, she might be looking at an alien quick reaction force. The remainder of the outpost’s defenders m
ight be readying themselves for departure even as the QRA was nearing its destination.

  She lifted her rifle and took aim, then ducked as the first IED exploded under the lead vehicle, flipping it up and tossing it into the jungle. The second vehicle ground to a halt, aliens spilling out in combat formation; she opened fire with the remainder of the fighters, hosing down the aliens with grim determination. She kept firing, even as the remaining vehicles moved to cover the infantry, their machine guns blasting streams of fire into the jungle. She’d wondered if the aliens were having supply difficulties - and Byron had agreed with her that it was possible - but if they were there was no sign of it as they fired endless streams of bullets through the nearest trees.

  There was a flash of light, then a stream of fire as the first antitank missile was fired, straight into the side of the nearest alien vehicle. It exploded a split-second later, sending the aliens scurrying for new cover as the resistance exploited the opening. The other alien vehicles pulled back, only to come under fire themselves. George watched, feeling an odd burst of pride mixed with fear, as the remaining vehicles were destroyed. The resistance had slowed the aliens down, if only for a few minutes. They’d be in no shape to help the garrison.