First Strike

by Christopher Nuttall

  A single red icon glowed on the display as it came closer to the planet. “One battlecruiser, almost certainly Hegemony,” the operator reported. Mountbatten felt his chest turn to ice. “It destroyed a freighter near the quantum gate before advancing on us...”

  “Send out the alert,” Mountbatten ordered. The local militia would muster, for all the good it would do. There weren't any Federation Marines on Clarke apart from the training cadre. A battalion from the French Foreign Legion, part of the 10th Mountain Division and a handful of SAS soldiers were running exercises on the mainland, but they’d never be able to get back to the settlements before it was too late. “And then we’d better put the evacuation plan into operation. Now.”

  Clarke had never expected to be attacked, not when the world was generally believed to be almost worthless. Mountbatten had developed a plan to defend the settlement, but no one knew better than him that any determined attacker could take the planet or exterminate the human population without much trouble. The only drill they’d held had been a disaster, which had at least concentrated a few minds. By now, the schools would be ordering their children to head to the shelters while the entire planet went dark. Most of the fishing boats didn't normally bother with radio transmissions, thankfully. They might be missed if the enemy didn't look closely.

  “Enemy ship entering firing range of the platforms,” the operator said. “Am I authorized to open fire?”

  “For God’s sake, yes,” Mountbatten snapped at him. The enemy ship was already firing on the platforms. Two of them were gone before they even managed to fire back. “See if you can hurt the bastard!”

  He took one last look around the command center, and then led the way to the door and out into the small town. Government House would surely be targeted first if the enemy intended to invade and occupy the planet and he could do no more good by remaining in the mansion. Once outside, he could put on his militia hat and take command of his forces, such as they were. The Federation had encouraged the development of a militia and even supplied weapons, but the population was too low to put up a real fight. And their enemy could bombard them from orbit anyway.

  * * *

  “All right, listen up,” Sergeant Tommy Hawkins bellowed. He’d been in 3 Para before First Contact, a line on his resume that had ensured his current rank in the militia when he retired and emigrated to Clarke. “We have incoming assault shuttles and they’re going to be coming in hot.”

  He glared at his troop until they stopped looking so nervous. A handful had had military experience on Earth, but most of them were youngsters who had been raised on Clarke by their parents and had never seen anything more dangerous than hunting expeditions and rescue missions. Some had declared their intention to join the Federation Marines, but in Tommy’s rather less than humble opinion few of them had the dedication to join and remain in service for the ten year period. It might not matter in the long run. Many of his men were going to die today.

  “You’ve trained on the Super-Stinger,” he continued. The Super-Stinger was an antiaircraft HVM built using Galactic technology, capable of shooting down anything that flew within range. And yet they’d never been tested in combat. “You know how to handle it. Anything that comes close is a target, understand?”

  He caught sight of a nervous-looking blonde farm girl holding a rifle and rolled his eyes. She didn't look particularly dangerous at all. Rumour had it that her father had ordered her into the militia for political reasons, rather than any desire on her part to serve. But she did her part, which was more than could be said for some of the others with political ambitions. Some of them seemed to think that all they needed to do was be on the rolls, without training and exercising with the others. Tommy had worked hard to expel those layabouts from the militia, but he hadn’t been completely successful.

  The training had been makeshift compared to what pre-Contact soldiers had been offered, but at least they’d been able to hammer proper rifle skills into their heads. Some of the youngsters had picked up bad habits from hunting rifles they kept on their farms. The riflemen would provide limited protection to the missile crews, or so Tommy had explained. They didn't need to worry about the enemy bombing them from high overhead, if only because there was nothing they could do if the Funks simply decided to kill everybody.

  “Once we run out of missiles, we get back to the RV point as we practiced,” he concluded. “And I will personally kick any slowcoach up the ass, you got me?”

  He could hear the sound of shuttles in the distance as the team scattered, the missile crews picking up their weapons while the riflemen took up guard positions. Tommy had picked their firing location with malice aforethought. The enemy should have problems locating them under the small forest of trees, at least until they landed ground troops to flush out the resistance. At least the Funks weren't likely to be as unpleasant as certain human forces, although they wouldn't hesitate to kill insurgents.

  There were nine large settled islands on Clarke and a hundred smaller ones, some housing no more than a dock and a few fishermen’s shacks. Logically, the enemy would land on Colchester Island first and take the spaceport, using it as a place to land their forces and deploy out to seize Wells City. His position should give them a clear shot at a handful of enemy shuttles before they had to cut and run, unless the enemy had their own plans for landing. It was just possible that the Funks might drop into the sea and attempt an amphibious landing, if they really wanted to outflank the defenders.

  “Here they come,” he said. “Take aim and...fire!”

  The HVM blasted out of his launcher and roared for the sky, tracking its target at terrifying speed. They were too close for most countermeasures, although the Funks did what they could by throwing their shuttles into evasive patterns. Two missiles had tracked the same target, part of Tommy’s mind noted, blowing the Funk shuttle into a pile of falling debris. The remaining shuttles followed, save one which rocketed away over the ocean. Tommy tried to form a mental picture of it trailing smoke and crashing into the water, but he had to admit that it was unlikely. Besides, the native seawater life would eat the Funks for dinner and probably get even more hostile to land-dwelling life forms.

  “Grab your weapons and run,” he barked. The Funks knew where they were now; active HVM launchers would show up on every orbital sensor. “Run, now!”

  The militiamen turned and ran for their lives. They’d practiced often enough, once Tommy and his fellow trainers had managed to convince them that retreat wasn't always a cowardly act. He heard the scream seconds before the missile plunged down and detonated where they’d been, blowing a colossal fireball into the air. The shockwave picked him up and threw him forward, sending him crashing down into a prickly bush.

  He’d been one of the lucky ones. The blonde militiawoman was less lucky. She’d been blown right into a tree and her head had almost been severed from her body. One glance was all it took to confirm that there was no point in calling for a medic. Tommy dropped a small grenade beside her body, booby-trapping it to surprise any Funk troopers who found her, and then led the remains of the platoon into the untamed wilderness. They could hide out there until the Funks retreated or the Federation Navy organised a relief mission.

  He shook his head tiredly as they headed further onwards. At least they’d hurt the bastards, even if they hadn't hurt them badly enough to make them think twice about invading Clarke. Raid or occupation, a lot of people were about to die – and all he could do was hide and await the opportunity to strike back. There was nothing else he could do.

  * * *

  Jeanette saw the shuttle fall out of the sky and hit the ground, sending up a massive fireball that could be seen for miles around. She hadn't bothered to go to the shelters, even though she knew that she should; her general store was about to be destroyed by the Funks and without it, what would become of her? She’d seen the indentured workers on the mainland, the men and women who hadn't been able to repay their settlement loans and ended
up working as virtual slaves for the development corporation, and she had no intention of ending up like them.

  She'd ordered her two sons to the shelters and taken up a position just outside Wells City, along the road leading to the spaceport. The last update she’d had from the Government had warned that shuttles were landing there, brushing aside the militia units that attempted to delay them. Her worthless ex-husband was probably among the dead; oddly, despite her feelings for the man who had given her children and little else, she found herself hoping that he’d died well. The radio had gone silent soon afterwards, suggesting that the Funks had taken out the transmitter. A handful of plumes of smoke in the distance suggested the worst.

  The faint sound of vehicles caught her attention, coming down the long road to the spaceport. No-one drove on Colchester Island, except the police and the emergency services. Fuel was incredibly expensive on Clarke, limiting the kind of vehicles they could use. Besides, Colchester was a relatively small island. Anywhere she wanted to go was within walking or bicycle distance. No, the oncoming vehicles had to belong to the Funks. She peered down the scope on her rifle as they came into view, heavy vehicles without any of the elegance that some of the Galactics insisted on working into everything they produced. They bristled with weapons and lizard-like troopers, who looked around nervously with flickering red eyes. Some of them wore combat armor; others wore nothing more than protective breastplates and helmets. They seemed ready for anything.

  Jeanette took aim at the nearest unarmored Funk and pulled the trigger. The hunting rifle jerked in her arms, but she had the satisfaction of seeing the Funk staggering backwards and stumbling into two of his comrades. She was already moving as the vehicle’s turret moved with stunning speed, bringing a pair of heavy machine guns to bear on her position. Jeanette dived into the stream as a fusillade of shots tore through where she’d been hiding, leaving a dusty mess hovering in the air. She started to crawl down the stream, praying that they wouldn't dismount and check to be sure they'd caught her; a second later, she heard a shot and felt something crack into her left leg. The pain was so agonising that she couldn't help screaming, even as she realised dimly that she’d been shot. Her leg seemed to refuse to work properly and she found herself twisting over and over again, only to see a pair of green legs appear beside her. She looked up into the bright red eyes of a Funk, pointing a gun at her head. Jeanette tried to reach for her rifle, but it was gone. She couldn't even think of where it might be.

  The Funk pulled the trigger – and her entire world went black.

  * * *

  Carolyn Jonson had been hiding in the shelters, with a number of other refugees, when the doors were flung open and they came face-to-face with the Funks. Carolyn had never considered herself a xenophobe – her settlement application would probably have been rejected if she’d disliked aliens – but the Funks looked horrific in the bright sunlight. Their hissing voices, speaking barely intelligible Galactic Three, ordered the humans out of the shelter. Those who tried to move slowly found themselves being helped along by rifle butts and heavy shoving. The Funks were stronger than they looked.

  Wells had never been a pretty city, but now it looked like a war zone. Buildings had been shattered, casually destroyed as if they had been struck by an angry god. A handful of vehicles were nothing more than burning wrecks. And there were a dozen dead bodies within easy view of the children. Carolyn felt tears welling up behind her eyes and started to sob. She wasn't alone.

  The Funk leaned forward. “Your world is ours now,” the alien hissed. “Resistance is futile.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “It’s confirmed, then?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Admiral Sun said. “Clarke has definitely fallen to the Hegemony.”

  Tobias cursed. The Funks had finally managed to start launching counterattacks – and he couldn't hope to stop them all. Apart from Earth itself, the defences of humanity’s worlds were minimal; Hammerfall alone had had more defences than all of the Nine Stars combined. It was a reminder of humanity’s greatest weakness; the Hegemony could afford to lose hundreds of smaller ships without making a serious dent in its combat power, while each lost human ship weakened the Federation Navy.

  “I took the decision to send one of the scouts to Clarke,” Sun continued. “The Hegemony landed at least two divisions of ground troops and remains in possession of the high orbitals. We were unable to make contact with our forces on the ground, which could mean that they were observing radio silence…”

  “Or that they’ve been destroyed,” Tobias said, tightly. “Did they capture any data on Clarke itself?”

  “We don’t know,” Sun admitted. “The Governor and his staff were under strict orders to destroy all of the data in the files if the planet was invaded, but too many people knew something about the planet’s actual value for us to be completely certain that the Funks don’t know anything. Someone might try to bargain with the bastards if they feel that the Federation can’t liberate them.”

  “And they’d have something to bargain with,” Tobias mused. The Funks enslaved those they captured, but slaves who had something to bargain with could press for better treatment or even a fast track to citizenship. And if the Funks suspected Clarke’s true value… they’d definitely be willing to deal. “I assume that the Council had something to say about it?”

  “They met in emergency session only an hour ago,” Sun confirmed. “So far, the news hasn't leaked out on Earth, but it won’t be long before the Funks start crowing about their great victory to anyone who will listen. The general public will realise that there’s a Funk battlecruiser only nine light years from Earth and start to panic.”

  “Even though a single battlecruiser would be cut to pieces if it tried to break through Earth’s defences,” Tobias said. But there was no proof that it was just a lone battlecruiser. The Funks were devious and it would have been easy for them to hide an entire fleet in quantum space, or simply under cloak a few parsecs from the planet. They’d be well beyond any risk of detection as long as they were careful. It was possible that Clarke was nothing more than the bait in a trap.

  “The Federation Council wishes you to dispatch a cruiser squadron to liberate Clarke,” Sun informed him. “We cannot allow the Funks to remain in control of human territory for any longer than strictly necessary.”

  Tobias winced. “I understand their point,” he said, “but do they understand that Clarke is meaningless in a strategic sense?”

  “I think they understand that losing Clarke and forty thousand human colonists is a PR disaster,” Sun said, dryly. “Even if Clarke was hardly a net gain to us, it still makes us look weak; we have to push back as hard as we can. They’re quite insistent on that point, Admiral. I’ve never seen the Federation Council so united.”

  “Fear is a great motivator,” Tobias agreed, dryly. The Russian and Chinese permanent members didn't have to worry about public opinion, but the remainder of the permanent members definitely did. Even after the great victories at Terra Nova, Garston and Hammerfall, there had been a sizable minority that wanted peace at any price. That minority would be taking the opportunity to press its case upon ears that were suddenly willing to listen. “I’ll have to consider our options carefully.”

  “I think that this isn't a time to resist our political masters,” Sun warned him. “They’re united, Admiral. The absolute last thing we need right now is your relief and a power struggle over who gets to nominate the next CNO.”

  Tobias nodded sourly. Sun would have made an ideal replacement for himself, when his term as CNO expired, but the political leaders wouldn't see it that way. The Chinese would want him because he was Chinese; the Russians would oppose him on the same grounds. America wouldn't be too keen on the idea; the Japanese would be utterly opposed. Given the weighted voting system, it was a hell of a lot easier to veto candidates than have one selected and confirmed by the full council. Tobias had had to fight hard over the years to prevent his political
lords and masters putting forward candidates for high positions purely based on nationality and political connections. He hadn't won all of the battles. The best he’d been able to do was make sure that some of the less reliable or competent officers were shunted off to meaningless posts and makeshift work. And he still worried about the recent crop of potential commanding officers.

  But strategically, Clarke was meaningless – unless the Hegemony did know that the planet wasn't as worthless as everyone thought. And yet that didn't make sense. Tobias knew just how extensively the Hegemony had tried to penetrate Earth – and how ONI and Federation Intelligence had worked to counter them – and if they’d realised that Clarke might be a valuable possession, they would surely have bullied humanity into surrendering the world before the Federation Navy was ready to start the war. Why wait until now to move in? No, that made no sense. The Funks had gotten lucky and were in a stronger position than they knew.

  “And if we offered to trade Garston for Clarke, they’d be bound to smell a rat,” he commented. “I don’t suppose there’s been any word from Ambassador Li?”

  “Nothing new,” Sun confirmed. “They keep going over and over the same issues in the secret peace talks. She thinks that they’re stalling, hoping that we’ll surrender our gains and let the Empress claim a victory of sorts. The sociologists agree with her, although I wouldn't trust those bastards to guess my weight.” He smiled. “And the news from the Gobbles doesn't help one little bit.”

  Tobias smiled. Humanity knew little about the Gobbles, one of the Hegemony’s two client races, but all of a sudden they’d become very important. Their homeworld had risen up against the Hegemony...and, according to some reports, they’d been aided by the dreaded human pirate king. In the short run, the plan to send a completely deniable agent to the sector to wreak havoc had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams; in the long term, everything would depend on how well the Gobbles could defend themselves when the Hegemony returned to their system.