The Long-Range War

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Aye, Admiral,” Yolanda said.

  Hoshiko dismissed her with a nod, then sat down at her desk and closed her eyes. She felt ... tired and drained and not even the slightest bit exultant. She’d won a great victory, but it had come at an immense cost. And her fleet was still deep within enemy territory. She needed to take her ships back to Apsidal and replenish her missile magazines before the Tokomak counterattacked.

  It should take them years to muster a counterattack, she thought. But is that actually true?

  She shook her head, slowly. There was no way to know. A massive fleet, fully equal to the one she’d just destroyed, might already be heading towards N-Gann. Or she would have months, if not years, to run rampant through enemy territory before the Tokomak finally gathered the strength to tear her fleet to bits and then turn Sol into a dead system. She thought she understood, now, just how Admiral Yamamoto must have felt. He could sink dozens of American carriers and shoot down hundreds of American planes, but there would always be more to take their place and grind the Japanese to powder. The Tokomak outmassed the human race far more comprehensively than the United States had outmassed Japan.

  I won, she told herself. She had won what was, perhaps, the greatest naval victory in recorded history. And yet, it had also been one of the most costly. But it feels more like a defeat.

  She keyed her terminal, bringing up the list of destroyed ships and killed personnel. It felt wrong, somehow, to admit that she barely recognised any of the names. The fleet was just too large for her to keep track of everyone. And yet, they’d all had lives - they’d lived and loved - until they’d died in combat. She wondered, morbidly, if it had been just as bad for her ancestors. They hadn’t known the men who’d died under their command either.

  And I’ll have to say something about them, when we hold the service, she thought. But what?

  Her intercom chimed. “Admiral, the fleet is reporting that it is ready to depart,” Yolanda said. “We can be in Winglet within a week.”

  The shortest route back to the fleet train, Hoshiko thought. Assuming, of course, that the fleet train wasn’t destroyed during the first engagement.

  “Good,” she said, calmly. There was no point in fretting. If the fleet train had been destroyed - or decided to head back to Sol - she would deal with it later. The real problem, right now, was that her flight plan was predictable ... if, of course, the enemy had any ships left to take advantage of it. “Order the fleet to depart.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” Yolanda said. She sounded tired too. “I’ll see to it at once.”

  “And then get some sleep,” Hoshiko ordered. “You need it.”

  “You too, Admiral,” Yolanda said. She had to be tired. An aide had a duty to point out when an admiral needed sleep, but aides were normally politer than that. “Ah, Admiral ...”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Hoshiko said. She’d once tipped a cup of coffee into her commanding officer’s lap. It had been an accident, but she’d thought the old man was going to murder her on the spot. “Get some rest, once the fleet is underway.”

  “Aye, Admiral.”

  Hoshiko sighed, then stood and headed for bed. Her entire body felt tired. She needed rest, a chance to nap before something else happened. There was little chance of the fleet being intercepted as it made its way to Apsidal, she thought, but she would need to be in peak condition when they forced their way through the Apsidal Point. Who knew what would be waiting for them there?

  We’ll find out, she told herself, as she removed her jacket and trousers. And we’ll deal with it, somehow.

  She climbed into bed and closed her eyes. But it was a long time before sleep overcame her.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “I can see the bastards,” Trooper Rowe hissed. “They’re taking up position near the transit tubes.”

  Martin nodded, curtly. The Tokomak hadn’t managed to get the transit capsules online - yet - but they had been using the tubes to move supplies from place to place. He was mildly surprised they hadn’t started using them to push deeper into the ring, although large sections of the network had been booby-trapped. Their bomb-disposal teams were moving as fast as they could, if intelligence was to be believed, but the task was immense. They simply hadn’t been able to open up more than a handful of tubes.

  He glanced at his timer, watching the final seconds tick down to zero. Major Griffin had put together a good plan, he thought, with plenty of room for improvising - or outright retreat - if things went wrong. Hundreds of small teams were taking up position all along the front, readying themselves for the advance. He smiled grimly, then checked his rifle one final time before the timer bleeped. It was time to advance.

  “Go,” he subvocalised.

  The team moved forward, grenades at the ready. Martin sucked in his breath as he saw the aliens, standing in front of a giant airlock that led to the transit tubes. Sergeant Howe hurled the first grenade, concentrating on taking out the aliens as quickly as possible; Martin hurled his a second later, cursing the enemy armour. It wasn’t as flexible as its human counterpart, according to the techies, but it was tough. The aliens barely had a moment to draw their weapons before the grenades detonated, blowing them to bits.

  “Incoming, sir,” Rowe snapped. “A spider-walker.”

  “Kill it,” Martin snapped. The enemy craft looked like something out of a bad movie - he had no idea what the designers had been thinking, when they’d put the first plans together - but he’d seen the spider-walkers in action. They could be quite dangerous if the drivers knew what they were doing. “And get that airlock open.”

  A dull explosion shook the chamber as the demolition team blew the airlock wide open. Martin tensed, half-expecting to feel air rushing out of the chamber even though he knew the compartment was vented, then ran forward to peer into the tube. It was empty, save for a handful of magnetic projectors that looked as if they’d been working before the power had been shut down weeks ago. Any transit capsules had been removed by the aliens, he guessed. The giant tube was empty.

  “This way,” he said, activating his antigravity unit. “Let’s fly.”

  He kept a wary eye out for aliens as he flew down the tube, knowing it was only a matter of time until they were detected. The enemy had probably scattered countless sensors within the tubes, just to keep an eye out for someone trying to turn them into a weapon. He hoped the other attacks, each one targeting a different enemy base along the front line, would be enough to keep the aliens busy. They might not have time to focus on him and his team if they had too many problems elsewhere.

  But we’re heading right into the central core, he thought, as he took a sharp left and then rocketed up the shaft. They have to know we’re coming.

  He flew around the corner and swore as he saw the alien barricade. A handful of aliens, their weapons already being lifted ... he gunned the antigravity unit, flying right towards their position and smashing into the barricade. The aliens fired, but their shots went wild as he tore through their position, his guns firing automatically as they picked out targets and killed them. The remainder of the team followed, pushing onwards over the handful of alien bodies. Their target wasn’t that far away.

  “They have to know we’re coming,” Sergeant Howe said. “Sir?”

  “Press on,” Martin said. He understood the risks, but they could end the battle in a single blow if they captured the alien commander. There was no way the Tokomak and their servants could go underground, not on the ring. Their former servants would hunt them down and kill them. “We have to keep moving.”

  He sprinted down the tube, relying on the suit to keep him moving. Two more aliens appeared, but both were shot down before they realised they were under attack. Martin barely noticed as he reached the second-to-last transit airlock, the one just below the spaceport itself. His team followed him as he blasted the airlock down, then hurled a string of grenades into the next chamber. There was no time to take prisoners. They had to keep moving.
>
  “This way,” he said, as they scrambled into the access tube. “There should be a way up to the lower levels.”

  He shivered, despite himself. It was easy to forget, at times, that the ring wasn’t just an unimaginably huge complex. Now ... they were under a spaceport, under the heaviest armour mounted on the ring. He knew it was strong. They’d devastated a spaceport further along the ring, but the series of explosions hadn’t done anything more than scratch the underlying armour plate. He felt exposed, even though he knew they were relatively safe. But there was no time to worry about it.

  The hatch at the top was locked. Martin stuck a demolition charge underneath it, then ducked down as the charge exploded. A handful of aliens staggered backwards in all directions as he burst out of the hatch, his guns already firing. The aliens simply didn’t have time to react before they were gunned down. He smiled, tightly. The path to the command centre lay open.

  “Trouble, sir,” Sergeant Howe said. He was checking his HUD. “They’ve got a blockade right in our path.”

  “Shit,” Martin said. He’d been wrong. The path to the command centre was closed. “I need options.”

  “I have one,” Trooper Rowe suggested. “But it’s risky.”

  Martin laughed, humourlessly. “What isn’t?”

  ***

  “They’re attacking in all sectors,” a voice said. “I ...”

  There was a crashing sound, then the voice cut off. General Wooleen swallowed a curse as the entire sector went dark. The humans - and their allies - were attacking with a fury he hadn’t seen since his first deployment to a rebellious world. And there he’d been able to call on orbital fire support whenever the rebels showed themselves. Here, his soldiers had to grapple with their enemies on even terms.

  “They took down a section of the command network,” one of his officers reported. “I’m trying to restore a link now.”

  “Optimism isn’t always a virtue,” General Wooleen said, dryly. The command network was supposed to be tough. If a section had gone down - and it had - he was fairly sure it meant that the guardpost had been taken out, along with the guards. “Order the next set of guards to prepare to repel attack.”

  He gritted his teeth as the terminal updated, again. The humans seemed to be throwing in attacks from all directions, without any overall objective. That seemed more than a little unlikely, given the human skill at deception. Logically, the humans had an objective in mind, something they considered to be worth the risk of mounting a major offensive. But what? It was hard to believe the humans thought they could take out all of his soldiers.

  “Barricade 472 has been overrun,” another officer called. “The enemy are heading for the spaceport!”

  No, General Wooleen thought. They’re heading for here.

  “Tighten the guard around the command centre,” he ordered. The humans couldn’t have any other objective in mind. “And order the engaged units to fall back on my command.”

  His mind raced. The humans had been trying to divert his attention, but they’d failed. He’d caught their plan before it was too late to stop them. And ... there was no way they could get into the command centre, unless they wanted to risk using antimatter weapons on the ring. It would be amusing if they did, although he wouldn’t live to see the results. Their positions - and their allies - would suffer worst if they set off a chain reaction that destroyed the ring and showered debris on the planet below.

  The Empress will not be happy, he thought. But at least the rebels will have been crushed.

  ***

  “You have got to be shitting me,” Martin said sharply, as they made their way into the giant hangar. A freighter sat on a lifting pad, waiting to return to the stars. “You plan to teleport into the enemy position?”

  “Yes, sir,” Rowe said. “Their jammers won’t block their own teleports.”

  Martin shook his head in disbelief. Jamming teleporter beams was almost painfully easy for an advanced race. There was a reason no one beamed bombs onto enemy starships, even when their shields had been disabled. The teleport jammers ensured the bombs - or boarding parties - never materialised. And yet, he had to admit that Rowe had a point. If nothing else, the Tokomak wouldn’t be expecting it.

  Of course they won’t be expecting it, he thought, as they swept the freighter to make sure it was deserted. This is nothing more than a fancy way to commit suicide.

  Rowe sat down at the teleport console, looking faintly absurd on a seat designed for an alien who was taller and wider than him, and started to tap on the controls. Martin watched, feeling marginally reassured. The Galactics were safety-conscious to a truly absurd degree. If the teleport beam couldn’t get through the jammers, the teleport would simply refuse to activate. And then they’d have to think of something else ...

  “I’ve aligned the beam with the jamming signal,” Rowe said. “We should be able to teleport behind the lines.”

  Martin shivered. He’d never really understood how so many of the old sweats could regard the teleporter with fear and loathing, but he thought he understood now. He might well be committing suicide, simply by standing on the pad and triggering the teleport field. And yet, there was no other way into the command post. They didn’t dare unleash the kind of firepower that would be necessary to burn through the armour and break into the enemy base.

  “Very well,” he said. He took his place on the pad, followed by four of his men. Rowe keyed the console, setting a timer, then hurried to join them. “Shall we ...”

  The world dissolved into golden light. Martin felt uncomfortable, as if insects were crawling over every last atom of his body; he thought, just for a second, that something had gone horribly wrong. And then the golden light faded away, revealing a backroom crammed with alien bedrolls. They’d made it!

  “Go,” he ordered. “And take prisoners, if possible.”

  He kicked down the door and charged into the next room. A team of alien REMFs stared at him in horror, clearly unable to comprehend how he and his team had beamed into their sleeping quarters. They certainly looked like REMFs, he thought. None of them made any attempt to fight, even though it would have been useless. His men were ready to shoot anyone who resisted in the head.

  “Secure them,” he snapped. “And then follow me.”

  ***

  General Wooleen looked up in shock as he heard the sound of someone crashing through the doors and shouting demands for surrender. The humans? How could the humans have broken into his command centre? He checked the display, but the guardposts outside the command post remained resolutely unengaged. The humans had somehow bypassed all the defences and broken into his base. It was impossible.

  He drew his sidearm, thinking fast. There was only one way in or out of the complex and, unless he missed his guess, the humans would seal it first. They would need to keep him from bringing in more reinforcements, along with everything else. But ... he tried to think of an option as the crashing sound grew louder. He’d have to pass command to his juniors before he was captured.

  “Contact Colonel Regan,” he said, grimly. “Inform him that he is now in command of the ...”

  The door exploded inwards. A trio of armoured figures crashed into the room, their weapons already sweeping the room for targets. General Wooleen hesitated, then dropped his sidearm on the floor. There was no point in trying to resist. The terminal bleeped an alert, emergency reports blinking up to warn him that the humans had cracked through two of the guardposts, but it hardly mattered. They’d cracked the command centre itself.

  “General,” the lead human said. General Wooleen assumed he was the commander, although there was no way to be sure. Technically, a general should only surrender to another general, but he doubted the humans would bother to produce one. Did they even have one? He found it hard to care. “Order your forces to stand down and surrender. They will be treated in line with the Conventions ...”

  General Wooleen frowned. The humans had protected some of the planet’s forme
r masters from their enemies, but they’d had a large fleet to enforce their will. Now, their fleet was gone and it was only a matter of time until the Empress returned with her fleet. And he couldn’t issue orders to the system pickets anyway. The most he could do was order his troops to surrender.

  He stalled for time. “What guarantees are you prepared to offer?”

  “We can take control of the ring and protect your people until our fleet returns,” the human said, after a moment. “The locals will not be permitted to kill them.”

  General Wooleen thought, fast. The Empress would probably expect his soldiers to fight to the last, killing as many humans as they could before they were wiped out. And yet, he doubted they’d kill many humans before they were killed themselves. It wouldn’t be hard for the humans to turn the ring’s systems against its makers, once they regained control of the command networks. His troops, divided and dispirited, would make easy prey. The humans would just have to send in the rebels, then watch as General Wooleen’s soldiers were slaughtered.