“Very well,” Ted said. “We will act to recover the prisoners.”
It took nearly thirty minutes to draw up a plan of attack. On the face of it, destroying the alien transhipment hub and the handful of satellites would be easy, but if the aliens had intended to make it hard for the humans to recover the POWs it would be very tricky. His imagination provided a dozen possibilities, all based on human history. There could be a nuke buried under the POW camp, the prisoners could all have been forcibly addicted to something only the aliens could produce… or they could simply have been brainwashed into servitude. Even if Ted and his crew did manage to get them all home, they might never be trusted again.
“Hostage rescue is always a pain,” Parnell had said. The Marine had sounded as enthusiastic as ever, but there had been an undertone of worry in his voice that bothered Ted. “The hostages have to be treated with great suspicion, because they might have bonded with their captors.”
It seemed absurd, Ted considered, for anyone to bond with the aliens. But after their images had been released, there had been humans extolling the virtues in their noble bodies… or something like that. Ted hadn't been paying close attention to the lunatic fringe. But, if someone felt completely cut off from Earth and the rest of the human community, could they be seduced by the aliens? It was a definite possibility.
“Take us into attack position,” he ordered. The closer they sneaked to Alien-One, the greater the chance of detection. He’d been tempted to snipe at the alien transhipment hub from a distance, just like they’d done at New Russia, but there was too great a chance of a projectile missing its target and striking the planet instead. “Is the fleet ready?”
“Yes, sir,” Farley said. He nodded towards one of the monitors, tracking the location and status of every ship in the flotilla. “The fleet is standing by.”
“Good,” Ted said. He smiled, inwardly. As tiny as the alien settlement was — although he couldn't escape the feeling they were missing something — it was still the first alien world to be attacked by human forces. Ark Royal and her crew would go down in the history books… absently, he wondered just who would be writing the histories of the war. Humans… or the aliens? “Launch the first spread of unpowered missiles.”
He settled back in his chair as the flight of blue icons darted out from the icons representing Ark Royal and headed towards their target. Unpowered as they were, not even Ark Royal could track them, but as long as they kept their drives deactivated they would follow a strictly predicable ballistic course. Long minutes ticked away until the missiles finally entered attack range and went active, bringing up their drives and lancing towards the alien station. There was a brief flurry of activity as the aliens realised the danger, too late. The missiles slammed home, blasting the space station into flaming debris. Ted watched, emotionlessly, as the debris started to de-orbit and fall towards the planet below.
Too much firepower, he thought, ruefully. If they’d realised the alien point defence would have been so pitiful, he could have saved a handful of missiles. But at least we killed it.
“Target destroyed,” Farley reported, with heavy satisfaction. “I say again, target destroyed.”
“There's nothing large enough to pose a threat to the ecosystem,” one of the analysts added. “The pieces of junk should all burn up in the planetary atmosphere.”
Ted kept his thoughts to himself. It was quite possible that there had been human POWs on the station, humans who had been killed without ever knowing what had hit them. There had been no choice, he told himself; the station had to be destroyed as quickly as possible. But he would never know for sure if humans had died because of him. The thought would torment him for the rest of his life.
“Launch starfighters,” he ordered. “I want orbital space swept clean.”
* * *
Kurt put thoughts of Rose out of his mind as the starfighter lurched forward and crashed out into interplanetary space at a colossal speed. Ahead of him, Alien-One glowed in the inky darkness of space, surrounded by unblinking stars that seemed to gaze pitilessly at the tiny humans infesting their domain. He shivered, helplessly, as he looked back at them. Most humans, even starship crewmen, didn't really comprehend the true vastness of space. He and his fellow pilots, however, knew it all too well. They were utterly insignificant on such a scale.
Bracing himself, he took the shuttle down towards planetary orbit, wishing — again — that the designers had solved the problem of crafting a starfighter that functioned equally well in space as on the ground. There were humans down there, according to the announcement, humans who had been taken prisoner by the aliens. He wanted to get down to the surface and tear into the alien defenders, pulling the prisoners out before they died in alien hands. But his craft couldn't hope to survive a trip through the atmosphere…
An alien satellite loomed up ahead of him. The computers engaged it automatically, blowing it apart before it could do anything threatening. Tiny pieces of debris fell towards the planet’s atmosphere as Kurt led the rest of the squadron forward, searching for other alien satellites. None of the satellites seemed anything other than civilian designs — not too different from anything human — but Kurt knew just how easy it was to hide a weapon in space. They didn't even dare risk trying to take one of the satellites intact.
“Space is clear, sir,” he reported, finally.
Despite himself, Kurt was almost disappointed. If he’d taken prisoners from an alien race, he would have made damn sure they were held somewhere that was heavily defended. But the aliens, for whatever reasons of their own, clearly disagreed with his logic. Maybe they’d assumed that humanity wouldn't bother to try to recover POWs. Or maybe they just hadn't had the shipping to move them further into their territory.
“Very clear,” Rose agreed. As always, hearing her voice while they were on duty provoked a multitude of contradictory responses in his mind. It had been much easier before they'd become lovers… now, he was in danger of obsessing over her. But, at the same time, he found it more than a little irritating. “Even the debris is falling rapidly.”
Kurt nodded. Earth had always had nightmares about a settled asteroid or a massive space station falling out of orbit, even if it shattered into countless pieces first. Adding that much junk to the planet's ecosystem couldn't possibly be healthy. But the alien world wouldn't be badly affected by the relatively small amount of debris… and besides, it was an alien world, not a human colony. The aliens could take care of themselves.
“Return to CSP positions,” he ordered. Ark Royal was holding position some distance from the planet, making it easier to run for the tramline if necessary. A handful of frigates, however, were moving into orbit, ready to provide fire support if the Marines needed it. “And keep your eyes peeled. These bastards have very good stealth, remember?”
* * *
“Space is clear, sir,” Farley reported. “No sign of any ground-based defences.”
Ted wasn’t too surprised. Ground-based defences were expensive and unreliable… although, with their technology, the aliens could probably create something more capable than humanity had been able to produce. But Alien-One was clearly nothing more than a tiny settlement and a POW camp, perhaps a clearinghouse for the aliens to use to sort through their prisoners and work out who they wanted to interrogate more carefully. Or perhaps they just wanted to put the POWs out of the way and forget about them.
He shook his head. The aliens had gone to too much effort to gather the POWs merely to leave them alone. Perhaps, once the POWs were recovered, they could shed light on how they’d been treated — and why. Or perhaps they'd be as ignorant as their fellow humans.
There was a bleep from the tactical console. “Wait,” Farley said. “One large ground-based transmitted, several hundred miles from the POW camp. It’s broadcasting out into space.”
Ted didn’t hesitate. “Kill it,” he ordered. That far from the POW camp there would be no risk of hurting the prisoners. “Can you id
entify the intended destination?”
Farley shook his head. “The signal was beamed towards Tramline Four,” he said. “But I don't know what — if anything — actually heard it.”
They won't have heard it yet, Ted thought. Tramline Four — leading further into alien-controlled space - was five light minutes from the planet. But even though the transmission had been terminated, there was no stopping the first signal burst from reaching its destination. There must be a ship there, lying doggo. They’ll bring help from the next system.
Farley looked up. “The transmitter is dead, sir,” he said. On the display, a fireball was rising from where the frigate-launched KEW had struck the transmitter. “But I still don't know where it was aimed.”
“Launch a pair of additional drones towards Tramline Four,” Ted ordered. “If there are reinforcements within shouting distance, they’ll have to come from there.”
He tried to work it out in his head, then gave up as he realised there just wasn't enough data to make even educated guesses. What was on the other end of Tramline Four? If there was an alien fleet in the system, how long would it take them to power up and advanced to Alien-One? Long enough to get the POWs off the surface… or quickly enough to force Ted to abandon some of them on the ground.
“Vector two frigates towards the tramline,” he ordered, after a moment. The frigates weren’t stealthy, but their sensors were better than the drones. Besides, they could pop through the tramline themselves and see what was on the other side. “I want advance warning if something pops through. If nothing does by the time the frigates arrive, one of them is to jump into the tramline and investigate.”
He turned back to the main display. “And order the Marines to proceed with all due dispatch,” he added. “We may be running short of time.”
Chapter Thirty
Charles suppressed the urge to whoop and cry hurrah as the shuttles plunged through the planetary atmosphere, lurching from side to side as if they expected the alien ground-based defences — if there were any defences — to open fire at any moment. This was what he'd signed up for, a daring combat drop right into the heart of enemy territory. Maybe the enemy weren't as heavily armed as he assumed they would be, when the human military actually hit an alien colony world, but it was still a combat drop. Drills just weren't the same.
“Ten seconds,” he called, as the shuttle lurched violently. There was no incoming fire, thankfully, but he was sure it was just a matter of time until they hit a heavily-defended world. By then, the lessons from a reasonably placid combat drop would have to be learned and learned well. “Five seconds…”
He was first out of the shuttle, as it should be. The magnetic field tossed him through the hatch and sent him plunging down towards the world below. Beside him, combat drones came online, spoofing enemy sensors and giving them a multitude of targets to engage… if they’d had anything to use to engage the onrushing humans. Behind him, the remainder of the Marines streamed out of the shuttle. He spared a moment of sympathy for the damn reporter — no matter how hard he’d worked over the last few days, he was utterly unprepared for a combat drop — then turned his mind back to the landing. Below, the alien camp was rapidly coming into view.
The chute popped bare seconds before he would have hit the ground, yanking him to a slow fall that allowed him to land reasonably gently. It disintegrated a second later as Charles moved forward, weapons and sensors searching for targets. The combat datanet came online as the other Marines landed, most of them fanning out in a wide circle around the alien camp. A smaller group would take care of the alien buildings to the south, dealing with any defences as rapidly and brutally as necessary, but taking aliens alive if possible. Charles knew better than to think that taking prisoners would be easy, yet he knew the human race needed to learn to understand its foe.
Pushing the thought aside, he led the way towards the alien camp. The wall surrounding it was solid metal; despite seeing it from orbit, he’d expected to discover that it was actually a fence when they hit the ground. It seemed excessive, somehow. The alien guards swung around, then opened fire, confirming Charles’s suspicion that the aliens had managed to construct plasma weapons that could be comfortably carried by a single soldier. Each of them, he recognised unwillingly, was capable of burning through a Marine-issue battlesuit…
“Return fire,” he ordered. Shots rang out as the Marines engaged their targets. He saw an alien head disintegrate as an armour-piercing bullet, intended to punch through armour comparable to the armour the Marines themselves wore, slammed through its target and went onwards. “Take them all out.”
Two Marines fell, alerts popping up in his HUD, as they rushed the camp, but the aliens suffered worse. Despite not being taken by surprise, they had had no time to prepare proper defences before the Marines came down and surrounded them. Charles couldn't help wondering if the aliens had seriously believed the human forces would never reach the camp or if the soldiers guarded it had been rated as expendable. But the aliens still fought, no matter how helpless their position, and died in place. Charles found himself caught between a kind of reluctant admiration and a cold, dispassionate disdain. The aliens could have withdrawn from the camp before the Marines landed and saved their lives.
The camp’s gateway was another piece of solid metal. Charles muttered orders and the demolition team went to work, blowing the gateway right off its hinges. Inside, he saw a handful of metal buildings — they looked to have been designed by humans, rather than aliens — and a number of human prisoners, staring at the Marines as if they were creatures from another world. All of them were naked, even the women and children. It made sense, he knew; it was hard for a naked human to conceal a weapon. Hell, the aliens weren't likely to be interested in human bodies…
…But it still didn't make it any easier to bear.
“Most of them are clearly Mexican,” Yang muttered. “But some of the others are not so recognisable.”
He was right, Charles realised. Who would have thought that the reporter had actually come in useful? Pushing the thought aside, he activated his suit’s speakers. It struck him, a moment later, that they might not actually speak English, before dismissing the thought as absurd. English was a common second language in space, as well as the official language for all deep space activities. Most of the POWs would definitely speak English.
“Attention,” he said. The POWs still looked listless, despite the appearance of salvation. It bothered him more than he cared to admit. “We’re the Royal Marines, from Earth. We’re here to take you off this mudball, assuming you want to go.”
The shuttles flew lower, then dropped down towards the cleared LZ. For once, the POWs showed some reaction — absolute terror. Charles blinked in surprise, wondering if they would have to knock the POWs out just to get them onto the shuttles, then relaxed as the shuttles touched down. As soon as the roar of their engines faded away, the POWs relaxed and stopped panicking.
“Women and children first,” Charles ordered. Thankfully, the POWs didn't seem inclined to argue. “Get into the shuttles and strap yourselves down. Hurry!”
A team of Marines swept the camp as the naked women and children made their way towards the shuttles. The medic — the closest thing they had to a war crimes assessor — reported that the camp’s water contained a combination of various drugs. One of them would make the POWs listless and biddable, another heightened their fears while dampening their other emotions. At least that explained why the POWs had been able to endure their nakedness, the medic concluded, but he had no idea what the long-term effects of such treatment would be.
“The drug has some similarities to a number of penal drugs,” he said. “They may well have taken them from our supplies, perhaps from New Russia.”
Charles shuddered. Before discovering a suitable world for housing dangerous criminals and lacking the political backing to execute them, the human race had experimented with various forms of drugs to control their behaviour. Some of
them permanently dampened sexual ardour, others encouraged compliance and obedience. But none of the drugs had been completely effective, he recalled, or they turned out to have thoroughly unpleasant side effects. He found it hard to care about murderers or child molesters who’d been forced to take the drugs, but it was alarmingly easy to imagine them being used for less savoury purposes.
He turned to watch as the remaining women were shoed into the shuttle by the Marines, then looked back at the medic. “Can they be purged of the drugs?”
“I imagine they’re in for a rough few weeks,” he said, shortly. “Like all such drugs, they can be quite addictive if taken regularly. But after that they should be fine.”
Charles had his doubts. Back during his first year of training, there had been a young recruit who had been a drug addict before trying to join the military. Somehow, he’d stayed clean long enough for routine drug screening to miss him, but eventually his body’s demands for the drug had become overpowering. He'd fallen off the wagon and he'd fallen off hard.
“Make sure the doctors on the carrier know the situation,” he ordered. “And you can detach yourself to assist them if necessary.”
He strode through the rest of the camp, examining it quickly. It was actually nicer than some of the camps he’d seen on Earth, complete with hot and cold running water, surprisingly comfortable beds and regular food. A quick check revealed that the aliens were feeding their captives proper meals, rather than nutrient mush or something edible, but tasteless. Charles couldn't help frowning as he walked back out of the building, wondering at their odd behaviour. One moment they attacked mercilessly, the next they treated their captives with a curious mixture of kindness and ruthlessness.
The remaining POWs started to panic again as the shuttles took off, clawing for the sky. Some of the Marines attempted to calm them, but it was impossible until the shuttles had vanished into the wild blue yonder. Charles looked at the panic in their eyes and found himself wondering, despite the medic’s words, if they would ever be normal again. The drugs had clearly influenced their behaviour… and not for the better.
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