A Learning Experience 2: Hard Lessons

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  The Tokomak didn't bother to respond, Yolanda noted, as the two fleets converged with terrifying speed. She wasn't surprised; all the reports, garnered from the captured starship, had suggested that the Tokomak were convinced beyond all reason that no one could match them in space combat. There was something elegant and fluid about their formation, she had to admit, that spoke of long practice, but would it translate into being able to fight properly?

  “One enemy ship is heading away from the planet,” the sensor officer cautioned. “Her flight path puts her on a direct course for Varnar.”

  “Five days round trip,” the Captain mused. “We have that long to strip the planet of everything useful and then withdraw.”

  Unless they go directly for Earth instead, Yolanda thought. Would they even know we were humans if we managed to prevent them seeing us?

  She dismissed the thought as the Tokomak craft lunged forward, still holding their formation as they advanced towards the human ships. Flickers of data popped up in her mind as sensors probed the enemy fleet, noting prospective strengths and weaknesses. She couldn't help mentally comparing them to the lone ship they’d ambushed, noting how their shields were stronger, their weapons were fully charged and their sensors were at full power. Not that they really needed them, she considered. The human squadron wasn't trying to hide its presence.

  “Enemy fleet is locking weapons on our hull,” Commander Gregory reported. “They’re preparing to fire.”

  “Evasive action,” the Captain ordered. “Open fire on the Commodore’s command.”

  Yolanda smiled to herself as she pulled Freedom into a series of random evasive patterns, each one confusing to a race that had only known simulations and drills for over a thousand years. To the Tokomak, she reflected, the human formation must look ungainly, as if they weren’t concerned with appearances at all. But what did appearances matter in a test of strength? The Tokomak ships looked beautiful, like something out of an pre-space science-fiction movie series, but could they fight? She had a feeling they were about to find out.

  Alerts flared up in her mind as the Tokomak opened fire. Bolts of light flashed through space, most missing by miles. A handful of shots struck their targets, allowing the analysis sections to study them. Their conclusions, flashed through the datanet seconds later, indicated that the Tokomak weapon were very variable.

  “Return fire,” Commander Gregory ordered.

  The human ships opened fire, hammering the Tokomak shields. Yolanda kept her ship spinning though evasive patterns, dodging most of the fire aimed at her hull, while the gunnery crews bombarded the Tokomak ships relentlessly. Despite the sheer level of firepower they possessed, the Tokomak were simply not very good shots – or, she realised slowly, had no practice fighting an unpredictable battle. Their evasive patterns were slow and predicable, as if they’d been crafted out before weapons had become so deadly.

  “Launch torpedoes,” Commander Gregory said, as the two fleets converged. The Tokomak seemed dazed, pressing in together as if they were seeking strength in numbers. “Fire at will.”

  Freedom jerked as she unleashed a spread of torpedoes, aimed right towards the Tokomak formation. Four of the torpedoes, their courses far too predictable, were picked off by the enemy ships, the remainder reached attack range and detonated, sending streams of deadly light towards their targets. The old concept of bomb-pumped lasers, so successful in battle against the Horde, had been intensely modified. Now, instead of nukes, the torpedoes projected the force of an antimatter warhead, compressed down into a needle of irresistible power. Two Tokomak ships were blown apart instantly, their hulls vaporising into nothing before they could start launching lifepods; three more were knocked right out of formation, one of them actually colliding with an intact starship, blowing both into balls of plasma.

  I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it, Yolanda thought. No one would be stupid enough to accidentally ram another starship ...

  “Repeat the surrender demand,” the Commodore ordered. “Tell them we will take prisoners and treat them honourably.”

  The Tokomak either didn't get the message or didn't believe it, because they kept firing. One ship broke free of the formation and dropped into FTL before anyone could intervene, while the remaining ships pushed forward, as if they thought they could catch the human ships and destroy them. But it was pointless, Yolanda saw; the Tokomak simply weren't prepared for a modern war. Their ships were so slow and cumbersome it was painful to watch, while the human ships could turn on a dime. They didn't have a hope of breaking free or destroying their enemies before it was too late.

  “Launch a second spread of torpedoes,” the Commodore said. “Take them out.”

  Yolanda altered course, just long enough to allow Commander Gregory to launch a broadside. They’d been warned to conserve torpedoes as much as possible, simply because the production process was slow, utterly unable to keep up with demand. It wouldn't do to vaporise the entire enemy squadron if they didn't have the weapons necessary to defend Earth, let alone take the war to the Tokomak.

  But there was no time to waste, not any longer.

  “One enemy craft has dropped her shields to offer surrender,” Commander Gregory reported, sharply. “The remainder have been destroyed.”

  “Order a team of Marines to board the alien craft,” Captain Singh said. “Inform them to handle the Tokomak gently, unless they offer resistance.”

  Yolanda felt an odd moment of respect for the Tokomak commander. Dropping shields was the universal signal of surrender, yet – in the midst of a battle – it was quite possible that the ship would be blown apart before anyone realised she had been trying to surrender. And God alone knew what his crew, who moments ago had been absolutely in command of the situation, would make of the order to surrender. Would they accept it without further demur or would they try to harm the Marines? Would Martin be at risk, if he was one of the Marines boarding the ship?

  “Take us towards the planet,” the Captain ordered. “Prepare to clear the Orbital Weapons Platforms.”

  “Aye, sir,” Yolanda said.

  Hades grew rapidly larger in her mind as Freedom raced towards the planet. It was a rocky airless world, useless for anything. Even a large-scale terraforming project would have been unable to make anything of Hades, according to the briefing notes. The world was just so completely dead it didn't have an atmosphere. But the Tokomak had found a use for it, she knew, as a naval supply dump. The planet was in the right place to allow them to threaten either Earth or the Coalition.

  The automated weapons platforms opened fire as the human ships closed in. They were relatively new, for Tokomak equipment, and managed to score a number of hits before they were blown out of space. Yolanda spitefully decided that proved the Tokomak had let their electronic servants do the work, although there was no way to know for sure. Perhaps the gunnery crews had more time to practice their art, so far from the heart of their empire. It was unlikely in the extreme that anyone would bother to conduct an inspection tour of Hades.

  Or it was unlikely, she corrected herself. These days, there might be a proper inspection any day, if they want to use this place for something more than a dump.

  “Launching missiles towards the planet now,” Commander Gregory reported. The planetary PDCs were still out of range, but they were firing anyway, hoping to score a lucky hit. “Impact in two minutes.”

  “Then launch the Marines,” Commodore Travis ordered. “Tell them ... tell them Good Luck.”

  Yolanda swallowed. Martin had been assigned to the first platoons to hit the planet ... unless he’d been reassigned to the team boarding the alien starship. Either way, he was in danger ... they were all in danger. And he might be about to die ...

  Cursing, she called on her implants to dampen her emotions. She couldn't allow herself to be distracted, not now. There was too much to do.

  ***

  Martin had a feeling that, if it wasn't for his implants, being in the lau
nch tube – the Marine Missile Launcher, as some of the crew called it – would have been thoroughly unpleasant. It was nothing more than being in his suit, trapped in the middle of darkness, waiting for something – anything – to happen. He thought he understood, now, why so few missiles had AI control systems, even though it would have made them far more efficient. The AIs would be trapped in darkness until they were fired, running the risk of driving them mad.

  But his implants provided enough simulation to keep him distracted ...

  An alert flashed up in front of him, followed by a sudden thrusting sensation as he and the rest of the platoon was forced out into space. Hades rose up in front of them with startling suddenness, growing from a dark orb hanging against the darkness of space to something that dominated the entire horizon. More alerts flickered through his implants as his suit orientated itself, then plunged towards the planet. From his point of view, it looked as though the planet was steadily growing larger and larger until it felt as though he was about to smash head-first into an entire world.

  Half the trainees get this far and no further, Sergeant Lestrade had said, years ago. They simply cannot master the drop.

  Martin shivered at the memory, then forced the thought aside as brilliant streaks of light rose up from the planet towards him. The PDCs were firing, trying to wipe out as many of the Marines as they could before it was too late and they were safely on the ground, able to use their weapons. Martin shuddered, then drew on his implants to help him relax. He hated, truly hated, being helpless ... and he was helpless, here and now, to do anything to save himself. A single hit would be more than enough to kill him outright.

  A flash of light, on the ground, marked the death of one of the PDCs. Two more followed, but the remainder kept firing, all the more desperate now as they knew they were being hunted by the orbiting starships. Martin cursed under his breath as death icons popped up in front of his eyes, including one belonging to Corporal Garland. He’d been so huge that he’d seemed to have muscles on his muscles, a man who had once taken on two of his fellows and won. And now he was dead, swatted out of existence like an ant crushed under a boot ...

  I'm sorry, Martin thought. There would be time to mourn later. I will miss you ...

  The ground came up underneath him with staggering speed, faint markings below him becoming the giant storage complex. Simulations or no simulations, he hadn't really grasped how huge it was until he’d seen it in person. He’d thought Camp Mons, on Mars, had been staggeringly huge, but the storage dump was far larger. Suddenly, on a very basic level, he grasped the sheer size of the Tokomak Empire. Their technology might be inferior, their crews might be poorly trained ... and yet they had a sheer preponderance of mass that had a quality all of its own. They could just keep pouring starships on Earth until Earth ran out of weapons to kill them.

  He braced himself as his feet struck the ground, then looked around. A line of aliens wearing suits of their own were running towards the Marines, firing as they came. They must have been desperate, Martin noted as he hit the ground; by remaining upright, they were exposing themselves to being hit. The Marines opened fire, picking off four of them before the remainder hit the deck themselves, then kept crawling forward. Martin crawled forward himself, then came face-to-face with one of the aliens. The alien lifted his weapon, but it was too late. Martin killed him, then crawled around his corpse and kept moving.

  The Marines rapidly pushed their enemy back, until they finally held the airlocks leading into the storage dump. Martin led the way into the building, unsure what to expect inside. It was nothing more than a colossal warehouse, tended by three different kinds of alien, none of them Tokomak. The Tokomak themselves had probably been doing nothing more than supervising, he guessed, based on some of the stores he recalled from Earth. A minimum wage-earner could be pressed to do everything, while the owner sat back and watched.

  He keyed his megaphone. “STAND BY THE WALLS,” he ordered, in Galactic Standard. The Tokomak had created the language, he’d been told; human analysts had noted that it made Newspeak – whatever that was – look totally ineffectual. They’d done their best to ensure that the language supported their primacy at all times, making it hard for adherents to even formulate an opposing concept. “REMAIN CALM AND YOU WILL NOT BE HURT.”

  Most of the aliens obeyed. The few who didn't either tried to flee into the complex or attack the Marines, a suicidal gesture as the Marines were wearing combat armour. They were quickly stunned, then stacked alongside the walls for later recovery. Martin shook his head, trying not to think about how many slaves on Earth had been willing participants in their own slavery, then advanced forward. The sheer scale of the factory was mind-boggling. There were enough supplies, he was sure, to keep an entire planetary system going for years.

  But how many of them, he asked himself, as they tracked down and rounded up the remaining workers, are usable?

  “The spaceport is secure,” a voice said. Martin’s implants identified the speaker as Captain Jackson. “We have the freighters and their crews under guard.”

  “Good,” Commodore Travis said. “And the storage dumps themselves?”

  “Secure,” Lieutenant Robbins said. “Their datanet is under our control. I’ve got a crew doing a datadump now.”

  She switched back to the platoon channel. “Herd the alien prisoners into the unloading chamber,” she ordered. “It will serve as a place to hold them until we sweep the rest of the complex.”

  “Understood,” Martin said.

  The aliens offered no resistance. Most of them were silent, staring at the Marines as though they came from a whole other universe. It wasn't a bad thought, Martin figured, as he checked the aliens for weapons. They had believed that no one would ever challenge the Tokomak, let alone raid one of their bases. Hades had been protected by their reputation far more than it had been protected by their starships. But, when challenged, their reputation had melted like snowflakes in hell.

  He took a moment to skim the datadump from the local computer network. There were literally millions of components listed, too many for anyone to handle without modern technology. It was staggeringly impressive, all the more so as it represented a tiny percentage of what – in theory – the Tokomak should be able to do. He shook his head in disbelief, then returned to watching the prisoners. God alone knew what they would do if it dawned on them that their masters were no longer unbeatable.

  “Douglas, you’re being promoted to Corporal,” Robbins said, suddenly. “I’ve had to surrender Charlie and Severus to 5th Platoon, so you’ll have one of the slots. Try to remember that the newcomers are reserves, not maggots. They know more than you, even if you outrank them.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” Martin said. “And thank you.”

  “Thank me if you get confirmed,” Robbins added. “You’re still quite young for any form of promotion.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Solar Union flatly refused to pay any kind of compensation to people wounded or killed by Solar Union troops in the wake of anti-war riots that shook multiple capital cities around the world. Following on from his previous statement, President Ross reminded the protesters that embassies are, by international law, the sovereign territory of the nations they represent and, if the local authorities are unable to do so, may be defended by the owners with all necessary force. Protesters stupid enough not to take that into account, he added, are too moronic to be allowed to live.

  -Solar News Network, Year 53

  “So,” Commodore Travis said. “What do you have for me?”

  Yolanda glanced down at her datapad, trying to control her thoughts. Commander Gregory had assigned her to assist the crews cataloguing and removing the Tokomak supplies, but she honestly wasn't sure if it was a reward or a punishment. Clearly, they needed to get as much away from the planet as they could, but – on the other hand – shouldn't she be returning to her simulations? Or did the Commander feel she had spent too long practising for inc
reasingly unlikely situations?

  “I have a complete manifest of their supplies now,” she said. “Do you want the entire list or just the highlights?”

  “The highlights,” the Commodore said. For someone who had won the most one-sided naval victory in galactic history, at least since the establishment of the Tokomak Empire, he didn't seem very cheerful. “And the items the logistic technicians want us to steal.”

  “Several hundred thousand missiles, complete with penetrator warheads,” Yolanda said. “The tactical analysts believe they were meant for planetary bombardment.”

  “Almost certainly,” the Commodore agreed. There was literally no point in using long-range missiles in a ship-to-ship engagement. If a ship felt it was about to be destroyed, it could simply drop into FTL and run. But a planet, which couldn't run and hide, could be hammered into submission, if necessary. “Next?”

  “Millions of spare parts, although quite a few of them are more cosmetic than useful,” Yolanda said, glancing down at the datapad. “There are also hundreds of nanotech kits for starship decoration and other oddities. I checked them against the database and it said they were for victory celebrations.”