“There are a handful of outer buildings here, here and here,” Peerce continued. “Buildings Alpha and Beta are slave pens, hosting three hundred slaves each. At night, the slaves are locked in their pens and fed a tiny ration of seeds and water. They are not only locked in, but left in chains. I don't think they will be able to either escape or join in the fighting on either side.”
He paused. “Building Charlie is a small army barracks,” he warned. “The Russians have been training a small number of locals in human-style military tactics. We don't know how loyal these soldiers will be, but we have to assume the worst.”
“They’re not allowed inside the wall,” Fisherman commented. There was a faint sneer on his face as he spoke. “The Russians must not trust them very much.”
“They’d be fools if they did,” Peerce agreed. He cleared his throat. “The wall itself” - he tapped the map with his stick - “is built from brick and clay, rather than anything prefabricated. A single antitank missile will blow a hole in it. You will notice that there are watchtowers along the wall, spaced evenly along the perimeter, as well as roving patrols outside the wall. Our friends” - he nodded to Ivan - “inform us that anyone moving close to the compound at night does so at risk of his life. The Russians shoot first and ask questions later. However, their timing is always predictable.”
Percy had to smile. They’d been taught to vary the timing of their patrols, just to prevent the enemy taking advantage of an opportunity to sneak through the guards and into the compound. The Russians might be faking it - their watchtowers presumably had night-vision gear - or they might be overconfident. It was unlikely that anyone would dare to attack their compound.
“We will check this ourselves, of course,” Peerce said.
He moved his pointer to the interior of the compound. “The complex has seemingly expanded several times,” he said. “You will note there are actually several internal walls that have been left in place, legacies of previous expansion. Internally, there are twenty-nine large buildings, ranging from the Russian barracks to storage dumps and a small prisoner compound. The kidnapped women, as far as we can tell, are largely kept in these two barracks here, but we cannot assume they’re all being held there. We were unable to get anyone close enough to be sure.”
“Crap,” Percy commented.
“The centre of the compound is here,” Peerce said. “The building is a prefabricated design, presumably taken from Vesper. It seems to serve as the linchpin of the Russian compound, with radio connections to the God-King and the orbiting starships. We believe the General, their commander, resides there. Again, however, we don't know for sure. There are limits to how closely we can probe the compound without alerting the enemy.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Hadfield said, after a moment. He turned to address the men. “We have two priorities. First, save as many of the women and children as possible; second, convince the Russians to surrender. That will not be easy. They expect to be hung when taken prisoner.”
Percy frowned. Hanging was the standard punishment for any captured insurgent, terrorist or enemy combatant who openly flouted the laws of war, but it sometimes backfired. In this case, the Russians would have no reason to surrender if they thought they were going to die anyway. Why not go down fighting?
“We will be telling them that if they surrender, they will live,” Hadfield continued. “The Captain intends to push for this, even though it will cause a great many problems for his career. However, the Russians may not believe him.”
He looked from face to face. “Therefore, we have to assume the worst,” he warned. “I want any armed Russian taken down with maximum force. If they surrender, they are to be bound for later collection. You are to do the same to the women and children, no matter how harmless they seem. We do not know where their loyalties lie.”
“Yes, sir,” Percy said.
It wasn't a pleasant thought. He would have preferred a simple battle, but engagements in the Shooting House on Earth had taught him that civilians could switch sides after being held hostage for long enough. The women had to be treated as potential enemies until the battle was over and there was time to sort the good from the bad.
He shivered. And, in quite a few of those exercises in the Shooting House, far too many of the hostages had died in the crossfire.
“This is how we’re going to do it,” Hadfield said. He started to sketch out lines on the ground with a stick. “1 Section will assault from the north; 2 Section will assault from the east. I want mortar fire on the barracks, both Russian and slave-soldier, as soon as the offensive commences, taking them out before they can join the fight. Our allies will attack from the south and west, liberating the slaves as they move.”
And hopefully keeping them out of the complex itself, Percy thought. Promises of plunder or not, the aliens would be hard to control when they saw their tormentors losing their grip on power. There will be a slaughter if they decide to have a go at everyone.
“We will also deploy drones and other support weapons,” Hadfield added. “Call on them if you need their assistance.”
“Aye, sir,” Percy said. He had no idea if the Russians had any antiaircraft weapons positioned around their complex, but if they didn't a drone would be very useful. “And mortars on-call for fire?”
“They will be ready,” Hadfield assured him.
“Pity we don’t have any gliders,” Hastings commented. “We could drop in on them from high above.”
“But we don’t,” Peerce snapped. “We have to make do with what we have.”
“True,” Hadfield agreed. “Are we all clear on the basics of the plan? Corporals?”
“Yes, sir,” Percy said. Hastings echoed him.
“It's an hour from here to the edge of their compound,” Peerce said. “We will rest up for the day, then move out when it gets dark. By then, the starships should be on their way towards the tramline. If not ... if not, the plan may have to be revised.”
He took a breath. “Get some rest,” he ordered. “It may be the last chance you have.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
“We’re in position, sir,” Armstrong said.
John nodded. The delay had gnawed at him, even though it had given the Marines a chance to gather intelligence and plan their assault. If the Russians had detected them …
They didn’t, he reminded himself, firmly. And now it’s time to carry out our share of the plan.
“Deploy the drones,” he ordered.
“Aye, sir,” Howard said. There was a long pause as he worked his console. “Both drones are now deployed.”
“Activate the drones,” John ordered.
“Drones online,” Howard said.
John took a breath. The tramline was seven light minutes from the planet; it would take seven minutes for the Russians to detect the drones, then another seven minutes before John and his crew would know if the Russians had taken the bait. They had to act, John was sure; they had to stop the prospective survey ships before they retreated back to Boston to report the existence of a system with seven tramlines and a life-bearing world. No one would miss a chance to claim Vesy.
But they can't stay hidden indefinitely, John thought. They could disappear a pair of scouts, yet sooner or later someone would notice the system had become a black hole and send a fleet to investigate. Or would they assume the tramline actually did lead to a black hole and then place the entire system off-limits?
He shook his head. It was hard to calculate the destination of an alien-grade tramline, but the tramlines the Russians used - the only tramlines they knew existed - could be projected by any competent gravimetric engineer. There would be no reason for anyone to assume the system was full of natural hazards capable of destroying every ship that jumped through the tramline. These days, it was much more likely that the Admiralty would conclude there was a hostile alien race on the other side and take steps to investigate the threat.
The timer bleeped. “Sir,” Howard said.
“They should have detected the drones.”
“Good,” John said. Not for the first time, he cursed the time delay under his breath. FTL sensors would be another useful thing for the boffins to invent. “Let me know the moment they leave orbit.”
He forced himself to wait, despite the tension. It had been easier, he told himself, when he’d been a starfighter pilot, even though there'd been a war on. Then, he’d waited in his cockpit until the higher-ups had launched him out to do or die. He’d never had to worry about anyone, but his wingmen. Now, he was responsible for the entire ship and her crew ...
And you have a job to do, he reminded himself, sharply. So shut the fuck up and do it.
***
General Vasiliy Alekseyevich Rybak hated Vesy. He hated the heat, he hated the smell and, worst of all, he hated the natives. The world was uncomfortable, every breath he took reminded him that he would never see Earth again and the natives, the disgustingly primitive natives, were nearly useless. He’d hoped, once, to use them as janissaries to recover Earth from her alien masters. Now, all he could do was hope to forge a united government, a government the human race would recognise, that could legally justify everything they’d done when Vesy was discovered by human explorers.
He sat upright, feeling sweat tickling down his brow. Something had woken him, but what? The goddamned air conditioning had failed again, he realised, as he pushed his blankets away from his body. It was hot and humid and very unlike Mother Russia. Beside him, Mary twitched uncomfortably, but didn't show her face. He'd trained her well.
The intercom beeped, again. “General,” a voice said.
“Report,” Rybak growled.
He wanted to go back to sleep, but he knew better. No one would have dared disturb him unless it was important. It had taken weeks of patient effort to impose discipline on his men, but there had been no choice. Their only hope was unity, first to survive in an alien-dominated universe and then to forge something that would allow them to keep their lives when they were rediscovered. He’d done terrible things to dissidents in order to keep the rest of the bastards under control.
“General, long-range sensors are picking up a pair of starships exiting Tramline Alpha,” the voice said. “They’re currently seven light minutes from Vesy.”
But they’ll come look at us soon, the General thought, rubbing his aching head. He needed a drink, but he didn’t dare pour himself a glass of anything stronger than water or sweet tea. If they see the tramlines, they will know they’ve stumbled across a system worth claiming. And once they see Vesy itself ...
He sighed, inwardly. “Order the ships to investigate and ... detain the intruders,” he said. “I want them brought back here in chains.”
“Yes, General,” the voice said.
Rybak closed the connection, then glanced at his watch. It was the middle of the afternoon, when all humans needed to rest and escape the heat, but the coming night wouldn't bring any relief. Vesy remained inhumanly hot; he’d need to get a team to repair the air conditioning before he could get any actual work done. But he needed to speak with the God-King, to encourage him to take the next two cities on the target list. If the God-King controlled even a majority of the planet, the human race would recognise him as the supreme ruler ...
He shook his head, bitterly. It was his only hope, he knew, of saving his life. If he forged a united world, he could present the Vesy to Mother Russia as allies ... and force his government to back his actions and take him back into the fold. He had no illusions. If he returned home without something to offer, he would be shot for deserting his comrades during the Battle of New Russia. And yet, the more he did to ensure the colony’s success, the harder it would be to convince his government to let bygones be bygones.
They’ll want this system, he thought, once again. Legally, whoever owned the life-bearing world owned the system. The Vesy would have clear title to their own system and the God-King, his ally, would rule the Vesy. They have to want this system.
He shrugged, then pulled back the covers to reveal the naked girl. Mary stared up at him, then lowered her gaze rapidly. Rybak leered at her, noting how she no longer made any effort to cover herself. He’d beaten obedience into her until she’d surrendered completely to him. It had been a stroke of luck to capture the colonist women, but it had definitely been worth it. His men had been delighted to finally have women of their own ...
The girl cringed back from his smile. Rybak smirked, then stood and walked towards the shower. There was no time to enjoy himself, as much as he might have wished to indulge. Instead, he would need to watch as the newcomers were captured ... and then determine the best course of action, if there were more ships on the way. Perhaps it was time to arrange for a few ‘accidents’ that would obliterate anyone standing in the God-King’s path. There might no longer be time for a slow, deliberate conquest.
He stepped into the shower and cursed under his breath as foul-smelling water cascaded from high overhead. Cooling and cleaning the water required energy they didn't have, not when they were so short on everything from generators to filters. It made him want to sleep, not remain awake. But there was no choice. All he could do was press on and hope he completed his plan before it was too late.
Or we will never be able to return to Russia, he thought. And that would be the end.
***
“Captain,” Howard said. “The two Russian ships have left orbit.”
“Good,” John said. “Both of them?”
“Yes, sir,” Howard confirmed. “There’s no hint they’ve deployed drones of their own.”
But they might have done, John thought. He pushed the concern aside with an effort. The Russians had no reason to assume a trap ... and every reason to commit both of their remaining ships to the operation. They dared not allow one of the supposed survey ships to duck back into the tramline and vanish. Given a few minutes of leeway, the survey ships would not only manage to hide, but start the long path back to human space.
“Good,” he said, again. “ETA?”
“Five hours,” Howard said. “They’re taking it easy.”
John considered it - the Russians could have been on them sooner, if they’d pushed their drives - then decided the Russians probably didn't want to spook the survey ships. If he’d been a survey officer who’d seen two warships barrelling at him like a bat out of hell, he would have sent one of his ships back home at once, just in case. Survey officers were known for being curious, but the Royal Navy didn't allow them to take risks. One ship could be sent back at once, while the other could wait and see if the newcomers were friendly or inclined to open fire without bothering to communicate.
“Then we shall wait,” he said.
He forced himself, once again, to wait. It was never easy to tell what one side knew - and thought the other side knew. John wondered, absently, if the Russians thought they were being stealthy, then dismissed the thought. Even by pre-war standards, the Russians weren't trying to hide their ships. It would have been hard for them to sneak up on a pre-war survey ship in any case - their hulls were practically crammed with sensor gear - but they weren't even trying to mask their drive emissions. They must intend to send a message at some point, he reasoned, one that would convince the survey ships to remain where they were. But what could they say that wouldn't set alarm bells ringing in the CO’s head?
This system is officially unclaimed, John reminded himself. Do they plan to actually claim it was only recently discovered?
Or did the Russians have something else in mind. They knew - or thought they knew - that they had a ship in the last system, the frigate Warspite had captured. Did they think the frigate would be in position to capture a runaway? John keyed his console, bringing up the system display and running through the calculations in his head. No naval officer would rely on such a plan - it required far too many things to go right - but a ground-pounder might consider it workable. It wouldn't be the first insane concept to be put forward, in all seriousn
ess, by a ground-pounder who couldn’t grasp the realities of ship-to-ship combat.
The survey ships would go into stealth mode as soon as they knew the system was occupied, John thought, coldly. They would evade all prospective threats in the next system as they made their way home, taking every precaution to avoid being detected. The frigate wouldn't even know they were there, if they managed to sneak past the ship on their way into the system ...
“Captain,” Forbes said. “I’m picking up a message from the Russian ships, aimed at the drones. They’re identifying themselves as Indian ships, sir, and are requesting the survey ships make contact.”
John blinked, then nodded. The Russians - or at least their leadership - clearly knew more about current affairs than he'd assumed. Using Indian IDs wasn't unbelievable; John would have believed it, if he hadn't seen the hulls. The Indian Navy wouldn’t want to spend money on ex-Russian craft when it could build more modern ships for itself. Besides, the frigate Warspite had captured was Russian, the troops on the ground were Russian, they’d taught the aliens to speak Russian ... the evidence was overwhelming.
[Ark Royal 04] - Warspite Page 36