The Hive Invasion- The Complete Trilogy

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The Hive Invasion- The Complete Trilogy Page 56

by Jake Elwood


  Touhami nodded and grabbed his handset.

  A sailor from the Gideon stepped onto the bridge. It was a young woman, not one of the four Harrington had recruited, but she seemed to have been pressed into service. She looked faintly familiar. Specialist Moore, Kaur thought. Fiona, or Phoebe. Something like that.

  "Captain." Moore glanced at Harrington, then addressed herself to Kaur. "The starboard rail gun is beyond repair. Heat has twisted the frame of the ship. The rails are bent now. The gun can't be repaired without full spacedock facilities. Maybe not even then."

  Kaur winced. Oh, my poor ship.

  "The belly guns are even worse," Moore continued. "We're transferring rounds to the port gun. We estimate between eight hundred and a thousand rounds. All ballistic. You've used up the exploding rounds."

  "Thank you, Specialist." Eight hundred rounds. Not a lot. But with only one gun firing, it'll last twice as long … "Any word on the progress of repairs?"

  Moore brightened. "The gun fires now, Ma'am. Not quickly, but it shoots. We fired off a test round. They've stripped out the loader and magazine. Should take about ten minutes to straighten out some bends." She grimaced. "It makes a right mess when the gun jams. It's all fixable, though. We're using parts from the starboard gun. You've got a firing rate of about two rounds a second right now. We've got people lined up to hand-feed the gun if you need it. In ten minutes you'll have full rate of fire."

  "All right," said Kaur. "Can they use you at the gun?"

  Moore's face fell. "Not really, Captain. It's getting pretty crowded there." She looked around the bridge. "It's pretty crowded everywhere but here."

  The bridge was as full as Kaur had ever seen it, barring the brief moment when she'd briefed the four sailors from the Gideon. The rest of the ship had to be a real snarl. "Stick around, then," she said. "I might need a runner."

  "Aye aye, Ma'am." Moore stepped to the back bulkhead where she stood beside Harrington.

  "Captain," Touhami said, twisting around in his chair. He had a handset pressed close to his ear. "More data on the approaching ships." Seeing that he had her attention, he said, "The first four ships are limpets."

  Cold washed across her skin. 'Limpet' was the name Spacecom gave the ship that had attached itself to the hull of the Alexander. Limpets were bigger than the smallest alien ships. None had been captured, but the best guess put them around the size of a three-ship cluster. One laser and one rail gun would be hard pressed to destroy a limpet, never mind four of them.

  The second problem was, the Alexander's limpet had burrowed through the hull and put commandoes aboard the cruiser. There had been fighting in the corridors.

  There had been deaths.

  That was before the Hive learned about fighting humanity. This attack would be worse. How, she wouldn't know until they struck. But worse.

  "Moore. Tell the rail gun crew we're facing four targets. They should manage their ammunition accordingly."

  Moore acknowledged the order and dashed away, leaving Kaur to brood in silence. The limpets would be fast, hard to hit. They'd be able to soak up a depressing amount of damage, too. Even if she could destroy all four—a long shot at best—did she dare use up the last of her ammunition?

  She imagined aliens burrowing through the hull of the Tomahawk with explosives, or something worse. She didn’t dare hold back.

  "Wait a minute," she said, abstract concerns about ammunition suddenly forgotten. She stared at Touhami. "Did you say, 'The first four ships?'"

  He bobbed his head. "Yes, Ma'am. There's a fighter out there, too." When she didn't speak he clarified. "It's one of ours. Either the Bumblebee or one of the EDF fighters. It just came flying in from one side." He illustrated with a wave of his hand. "I don't know where it came from."

  Kaur shook her head. What else is going to pop up? Well, they were flying toward an enemy Gate. Anything at all might come through from the other side. She wondered if she should blow the Gate, assuming she ever reached it. She didn't want to strand the Theseus and the Sgian Dubh—but whatever was on the other side could hardly be worse than what was here.

  It was an alien transport hub, she decided. She'd destroy it if she could.

  "Ramirez. Contact that fighter if you can."

  "Aye aye, Ma'am."

  "Captain, could you pass the word? Everyone needs to hang on."

  "I'm on it," said Harrington.

  "All right, Benson," Kaur said. "The gunners will do what they can, but the rest is up to you. Keep those things off my hull."

  CHAPTER 18 - JANICE

  The truck rolled along a rough-graded road, moving rapidly enough that whole vehicle vibrated, setting Janice Ling's already frayed nerves on edge. A colony with limited resources and not too many vehicles had never tried too hard to lay down smooth, perfect pavement. Janice sat on the truck bed, soldiers crowded in on either side of her, sighed, and resigned herself to enduring the vibration.

  "Bump coming up," said the man across from her. The name strip on his chest said 'Chiweto'. She'd never spoken to him before.

  "What?" The word was barely out of Janice's mouth when the truck bed dropped away beneath her, then slammed into her buttocks with force enough to make her grunt. Her head hit the side of the box, the helmet taking most of the force.

  Chiweto grinned apologetically. "The irrigation splashes on the road here. Erodes it. Don't worry, though. It's smooth for the next ten, fifteen K."

  She looked around. The truck box held two rows of soldiers, backs against the sides of the box, feet almost touching along the center line. There were eight people in the box, with the sides of the box rising high all around. She could see a dark blue rectangle of sky above, and that was it. The countryside was completely invisible. "How do you know where we are?"

  "Huh?" Chiweto blinked at her. "What do you mean?"

  "You know where the bumps in the road are. You know it's smooth for the next while. How could you possibly know that?"

  He smiled. "Oh, I take this road every day. Into town and back out again. Or I did, before the invasion." The smile faded.

  "But how do you know where we are?"

  That made him frown in concentration. "Well, I saw the oaks." He gestured at the air above and behind Janice's head. "And the road curves a bit. There's a little bump when you pass the Smith driveway. And then, about a minute later, you hit the washed-out spot." He shrugged. "Simple, really."

  "Right," she said grumpily. "Simple." It was difficult not to glare at Chiweto. Her bad mood wasn't his fault, after all. He hadn't done anything wrong. He was just another soldier.

  Same as her.

  That, she realized, was at the heart of her discontent. She was a journalist. It was how she thought of herself. It was who she was. Except now, she wasn't. Now she wore a green uniform and light body armor, the same as the soldiers around her. She carried a rifle, and had a radio clipped around her ear. It didn't feel like her.

  She was a refugee from Earth, with a skill set no one wanted in a beleaguered colony. For a short time she'd been able to get by on charity. The colonists saw her as an extension of the Navy force she'd travelled with, and it was in their nature to share with someone in need.

  That charity wouldn't last forever, though. When the call had gone out for volunteers to join the new Colonial Forces, she hadn't hesitated long before signing up.

  After all, she had nothing else useful to do.

  All the way through her short, intense training period she'd felt like an outsider. She didn't fit among the Navy personnel who did most of the training, or with the handful of veterans among the colonists who'd pitched in to help train the recruits. She certainly wasn't a colonist. On some level she'd thought of it all as temporary. She had a bedroom in a villa that she shared with a sailor from Earth and a colonist from a distant farm. It had the feel of a short-term billet, not a home.

  As she went through the training she'd been filing away all kinds of details in case she wanted to write about the whol
e experience. She'd been thinking of it as an assignment. Gathering background for an awesome story. Deep down inside she thought of herself as a journalist travelling with the real soldiers.

  Except she had no journalistic career to return to. Nowhere to file a story. Nowhere to live, to be, except Ariadne. She was a colonist now, whether she liked it or not.

  She shifted her rifle from one side to the other, careful to keep the barrel pointed up. Controlling where the gun was pointed, remaining constantly aware of the muzzle direction, was second nature to her now. She was a decent shot, and she had a solid grasp of small-unit tactics. She was no seasoned veteran, but she was a competent soldier now. She was as good as anyone in the back of this truck.

  And now, she was on her first real assignment. Alien ships had touched down in the countryside, and CF troops were heading out to see what was going on. The idea should have excited her. After all, she was finally going to put all that training to work. She could understand if it were to terrify her instead.

  She felt some fear, true, but her main reaction was surliness. It's because I'm a soldier. I really am. I'm going out to face the aliens, and I actually know what I'm doing.

  I'm not a reporter anymore. I'm a private. This isn't a story. I'm not getting background. I'm doing my job.

  Janice sighed and closed her eyes. This wasn’t supposed to be my job.

  "We're passing my place now," Chiweto said. Janice opened her eyes. He was staring past her, like he was trying to look through the truck box. He wore an expression of such wistfulness that Janice felt her own grumpiness fade.

  I don't get to be a reporter. Boo hoo, poor me. Look how I've suffered during the alien invasion. She looked up and down the truck box. Do you think any of them wanted this job?

  Well, most of the soldiers were men, and men were funny creatures. The young ones looked eager, excited. Even some of the older men had a look in their eyes sometimes, like they were getting a second chance at the dreams of their youth.

  But still, not being lunatics, who among them would choose to go rolling into battle in the back of a truck when they could be building a colony, building lives?

  She'd chatted with Knute, the man at her left. He was in his fifties, and he'd spent his adult life carving a farm out of a terraformed wasteland. Leaving when the aliens came had just about broken his heart. He'd stand with the rest of them, never flinching, but all he really wanted was to get back to his farm and see what was left.

  Okay, Janice decided. Pity party's over. It's time to think about what comes next. You've seen aliens before, so there's no excuse for panicking if one pops up in front of you today. She closed her eyes again and ran through a weapons drill in her mind. Lift the rifle. Stock against your shoulder. Cheek just touching the breech. Look past the sights, eyes on the target. Quick one-two-three on the trigger, pause, evaluate. Then fire again.

  The truck braked, her body tilted toward the cab, and Janice's pulse quickened. Are we there? Is it about to begin? All that happened, though, was that the truck turned and started bumping its way along a much rougher surface. We're crossing farmland now. It can't be much farther.

  Her body tilted the other way, and she found herself leaning against Knute, his rifle between them, the stock digging into her hip. They bounced and swayed as the truck climbed a gentle slope. After an endless time the truck stopped. There was a breathless moment of silence, then the sound of cab doors opening and closing.

  Janice drew her legs in, preparing to rise. Chiweto and some of the others did the same, but Knute didn't move. She glanced at him, and he shrugged.

  A man near the tailgate rose to one knee, waited for thirty long seconds, then sat back down, looking flustered. And the doors to the cab creaked. The truck bed rocked ever so slightly as the driver and sergeant climbed back in. The doors slammed, and the truck resumed moving.

  Janice said, "Maybe it'll be a while before-"

  The truck stopped, and she heard the thump of feet outside. The tailgate dropped and the sergeant, a blocky woman in her forties, glared in at them. "Let's go, kids! Move it, move it! This isn't a holiday outing."

  Soldiers scrambled out of the box, and Janice followed. The truck stood just below the crest of a low hill. The driver was setting up a telescope on a tripod, just low enough to keep himself from being skylined. "Spread out," said the sergeant. "Look sharp. Buggers touched down somewhere near here. And stay off the bloody horizon."

  Janice headed across the hillside, staying at the same altitude, checking to make sure her head wouldn't block the telescope. The ground underfoot was in furrows with dead plants poking up in tidy, withered rows. She had no idea what grew here, if this was a crop that had been harvested or young plants that had died from neglect when the farmers died or fled.

  To the east the crater wall loomed, made flat and featureless by distance. The crest of the hill blocked her view to the north. To the south and west she saw rolling farmland and patches of scruffy trees. Several hectares of timber had been harvested, leaving an orderly grid of round stumps. She wondered idly if more trees would be planted there.

  "Nothing so far, Sarge," the driver said.

  "All right. Head around the hilltop and look north. We'll leave the truck where it-"

  Light flashed white in the corner of Janice's eye, someone screamed, and she dove forward, landing on her elbows and stomach in the dirt. The stalks of dead plants poked at her. She stared at the side of her left hand, where a plant had scratched her and drawn blood.

  She smelled ozone, burnt earth, burnt flesh. Instinct made her roll sideways, downhill. After one complete rotation she came up on one knee, rifle ready, and looked around.

  A black line scored the hillside just above the indentation where she'd thrown herself flat. She saw a trough half the width of her body, with charred plants and crisp-looking soil. She followed the trough with her eyes and saw a soldier named Hansen, sprawled on his back, his back arched and his body twisted in agony. He was dead, his torso burned most of the way through.

  Janice's gaze moved back along the trough, and she shivered. She'd thrown herself flat an instant before some terrible heat weapon had swept across the hillside. She'd dropped out of the kill zone without a second to spare.

  The truck erupted in flame, and Janice turned her head in time to glimpse a white-hot line in the air. The weapon was somewhere behind her, south, down the hill. It fired again, sweeping across the hillside, and caught another soldier. The beam swept up, raking the soldier from toes to head in the blink of an eye. Janice couldn’t tell who it was, couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman, as the blackened remains of the soldier dropped to the ground.

  She sprang up, running for the top of the hill. There was no time to think, no time for strategy. The weapon was behind her. The crest of the hill meant safety.

  Soldiers took cover behind the remains of the truck, braving the heat of the burning vehicle for the protection it provided. The sergeant laid her rifle over the hood and fired, and a man stood at the back of the truck, firing wildly into the distance. It was enough to attract the attention of the alien gunner, and flames engulfed the remains of the truck as Janice lumbered over the top of the hill.

  Just a few more steps. Almost safe. I'm almost over the top. But I'm skylined. I'm the most visible person on the hill right now. I'm a perfect target. I-

  She threw herself flat. Terror hit her then, and she lay for a long moment, panting furiously, her limbs frozen. Was she safe? Was she over the horizon, hidden? Or were the soles of her feet plainly visible from the alien's hiding place? Was it lining up a shot even now?

  Janice jerked herself sideways, rolling, then squirmed forward on her elbows and the insides of her knees. Wriggling along was nightmarishly slow, but she couldn't bring herself to rise any higher. On and on she squirmed, until a glance backward showed her nothing but dirt and dead plants.

  She rose then and ran, hunched forward, until she was well below the top of the hill. Then
she stopped, panting, and looked around.

  She was alone, and that scared her badly. Then a shape rose from the dirt almost at her feet. She almost fired, and Chiweto threw a hand up, palm out. "Hey!"

  "Sorry." She pointed her rifle at the sky, then lowered it a few degrees at the sound of running feet.

  Another soldier rounded the hill. It was Mark Stewart, still in his teens, a boy who'd annoyed her all through her training by easily running faster, shooting straighter, lifting more, and generally outperforming her. He was white-faced and frightened now, the rifle in his hands vibrating. He stopped in front of her, and she reached out a hand, tilting the barrel of the rifle sideways so it no longer pointed at her chest.

  "Dead," Stewart said. "Oh, my God. They're dead." The rifle barrel began to drift back toward her chest.

  She wrapped one hand around the barrel, keeping it pointed at the sky. With her other hand she poked his shoulder where his body armor ended. He seemed oblivious to both actions, staring around with wide eyes. She wasn't sure he could even see her or Chiweto.

  "Stewart." She poked him again. When he didn't respond she slapped him, hard.

  That got his attention. His eyes focused, he stared at her, and a look of hurt indignation filled his face. He touched his cheek. "Hey!"

  "Welcome back," she told him, and gestured at the far side of the hill. "Is anyone else alive?"

  That put his eyes back out of focus. "The sarge is dead!" Janice lifted her slapping hand, and he leaned away. "Stop that."

  "Is anyone else alive?"

  His brow furrowed. "No," he said. Then his face crumpled. "Oh, God …" Then, as her hand started to rise, "Stop hitting me!" His gaze shifted. "Why are you holding my gun barrel?"

  She let go. "We need to get out of here."

  "Where will we go?" The voice was Chiweto's, and he sounded wonderfully calm. Both men were looking at her, she realized, waiting for her to make a decision.

  But you're the men! You're supposed to be good at this army stuff. And you live here. Why are you looking at me?

 

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