He smiled. But they don’t know that we know, he thought. They think we’re just a bunch of survey officers following the tramlines.
“Feed them some comforting lies,” he said. “Tell them we would be happy to recognise their claim to the system and we look forward to comparing notes on the tramlines.”
“Aye, sir,” Forbes said.
John smiled to himself. If the ships in the system had really been Indian, there wouldn't have been much room to dispute their settlement rights - if, of course, the Vesy hadn't existed. They would have beaten anyone else to the system, after all; the World Court would uphold their rights, if it came down to an open dispute. But the presence of the aliens complicated matters. They, not the human interlopers, would have title ...
He dismissed the thought. The Russians had to be stopped. After that, they could deal with the Vesy.
“They will be on us in thirty minutes,” Howard warned.
“Then prepare to engage,” John said.
***
The command centre was a joke, Rybak knew. It was nothing more than a small room at the heart of a prefabricated building, originally intended to serve as a storage compartment. But he’d had a handful of computers and radios moved into the chamber, then trained his staff until they could use them to assist the God-King in directing his forces. The locals thought radio was magic - they had no concept of radio waves or how they worked - but they had been able to learn how to use radios, once they had managed to overcome the shock. It was easy, now, for the God-King to coordinate his armies over multiple fronts, giving him a decisive advantage over his enemies.
The studied ruthlessness helps, Rybak thought, as his officers turned and saluted. The Vesy know they have no choice, but to submit to his rule - or die.
He had no intention of allowing the God-King to repeat the mistakes of Mother Russia. All other religions were to be crushed, without mercy. The priests were killed, the temples were torn down and attendance at sermons of the one true religion was compulsory. None of the Vesy had ever considered the value of a bureaucracy when it came to controlling people; they hadn't realised, until it was too late, that a slip of paper could make the difference between life or death. These days, a priest had to stamp a bearer’s passport before that bearer could leave the temple ... and, if the stamp was lacking, the bearer would be in serious trouble with the religious police. He would probably be castrated, then sent to the slave pens. Only one willing to rat out his fellow unbelievers would be spared.
The Tsars were fools to allow countries and religions to survive, he reminded himself. How much trouble might Mother Russia have saved itself if it had crushed the Poles, Ukrainians, Turks, Central Asians and Jews? In ten years, there will be only one society on this world - ours, the one we shaped.
The weapons were the easy option, he knew. It was the other changes that would make the God-King unbeatable. Roads for armies; radios for coordination; propaganda to make the unconquered grow weak at the knees; bureaucracies for population control; secret policemen to root out heresy as well as traitors ... it would not be long before no one dared cough, without permission in triplicate. And the purges removed all elements of previous command structures. There would be no one left to organise resistance any longer ...
“The ships are closing in on the newcomers,” an officer said. “They’re ready to engage.”
“Then tell them to fire at will,” Rybak said. There was no time to waste. He dared not allow either of the newcomers to make their escape. “And then keep me informed.”
***
“They’re inviting us to dinner, sir,” Forbes reported. “They want to compare notes.”
“How nice,” John murmured. “Tell them we will be honoured to accept their invitation.”
The thought made him smirk. He liked to think that even the most single-minded survey officer, with a curiosity bump the size of a planet, would be feeling uneasy by now. The Russians were still coming towards the supposed ships, rather than reducing speed and trying to look harmless. But then, if he’d been in command of the Russian ships, he might have wondered why the survey ships were just sitting there. Surely, one of them would have seen fit to move back through the tramlines by now.
Survey officers aren’t primarily military officers, he thought. Or they weren't, before the war. The Russians might not have realised that’s changed.
He looked at Howard. “Do we have a lock on the assault transport?”
“Yes, sir,” Howard said. “Our main gun is locked and loaded, but not powered up.”
John cursed under his breath. It took a minute, according to their live-fire tests at Pegasus, to charge up the plasma gun. The Russians would have plenty of time to detect the emissions and sheer off, if they realised what they were. And then ... he’d been torn between firing at the transport and the frigate, before realising the assault transport had to be taken out first. If the worst happened, the frigate wouldn't be able to intervene so decisively against the forces on the ground. The Russians might see sense and surrender to the Marines.
“Then commence power-up sequence,” he ordered. The Russians would know, as soon as they detected the emissions, that Warspite was no survey ship. “And prepare to engage.”
“Aye, sir,” Howard said.
John looked at Forbes. “If they ask what we’re doing, hit them with some technobabble,” he added. “See if they can be convinced we’re not doing anything dangerous.”
“Aye, sir,” Forbes said.
“The Russians are altering course,” Howard said. Alarm rang through his voice. “They’re bringing tactical sensors online!”
Rumbled, John thought. A single radar sweep would reveal that one of the ships was an illusion created by two drones and the other a warship. There was no longer any point in trying to hide.
“Fire,” he ordered.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The lights dimmed, just for a second, as the plasma cannon fired.
“Direct hit, sir,” Howard reported. “The assault transport is crippled.”
They must have bolted on additional armour, John thought. The plasma cannon should have burned through any pre-war hull, save for Ark Royal and the handful of frigates with solid-state armour plating. Bollocks.
Or maybe not, he realised, a second later. The transport’s hull might have remained largely intact, but it was so badly damaged it was unlikely that anyone had survived.
“The frigate is opening fire,” Howard added. “They’re launching missiles.”
“Return fire,” John snapped. “Bring point defence online, then take us in pursuit.”
“Aye, sir,” Howard said.
“Hail them,” John added. “Order them to surrender. Pledge good treatment if they give up now.”
“Aye, sir,” Forbes said.
John sucked in his breath as the Russian ship altered course, swinging from side to side as if her helmsman was drunk. They’d just seen one of their fellows crippled with a single shot, John knew; they had to know they were in deep trouble. But they also thought they were dead anyway, if they surrendered or not. The only thing they saw as a realistic response was to keep fighting.
Not that we could hit them with the plasma gun again, he thought. That was very much a sucker punch.
“Point defence going active now, sir,” Howard said.
“Good,” John said, quietly. On the display, plasma bolts lanced out towards their targets and, one by one, swatted the missiles out of space. None survived long enough to get close to the target and detonate. “Continue firing.”
“They haven’t responded to our messages, sir,” Forbes said.
“Then send the go order to the Marines,” John ordered.
He ran through the calculations, once again. It would take seven minutes for the order to reach its destination, then a few more minutes for the Marines to start their attack on the compound. Would the Russians have time to get their defences into place before the shit hit the fan? There wa
s certainly no indication the Russians knew the Marines were already on the planet. But the Russians would certainly know that all hell had broken loose near the tramline.
“The Russians are trying to break off, sir,” Howard reported.
“Take us in pursuit,” John snapped. He was damned if he was going to let the Russians evade justice, not now. “Continue firing!”
The Russian ship kept weaving from side to side, as if they feared another plasma shot. John allowed himself a tight smile, then watched as Howard launched another spread of missiles towards the Russian ship. This ship’s point defence was better than the last ship’s, he acknowledged, but not good enough to hold out indefinitely. A laser head exploded close to the ship, sending a ravening beam stabbing deep into its vitals. The Russian ship seemed to stagger, then lost speed rapidly.
“I think we damaged the drives, sir,” Howard reported. “I'm picking up a great many signs of internal distress ...”
He broke off as new red icons appeared on the display. “They launched another salvo of missiles,” he warned. “They’re still fighting.”
John shook his head in disbelief. No one could blame the Russians for giving up, not now. Even if they managed, by some dark miracle, to win the battle, they were doomed. Their ship was crippled, unlikely to make it back to the planet before it was too late; their comrade was completely smashed, half-melted by the plasma strike. But they were still trying to fight ...
He considered his options, rapidly. Boarding the ship was impossible, not without the Marines. He could ask for volunteers from the crew, if necessary, but they weren't trained to board and storm enemy vessels. Even if they had been, the Russians might just blow up their own ship as soon as they were boarded, purely out of spite. And leaving them in space, crippled and helpless, meant condemning their crew to a lingering death.
They deserve to suffer, part of his mind insisted. It was true, he knew; the Russians had brutalised a helpless race, as well as kidnapped civilians. But the rest of him disagreed. They don’t deserve to suffer that much.
“Take them out,” he ordered, quietly.
“Aye, sir,” Howard said. He launched a final missile straight into the Russian ship’s hull, where it detonated. The Russian ship exploded into a fireball of expanding plasma. “Target destroyed.”
John nodded. “Mr. Armstrong, take us back to the planet,” he ordered. “Best possible speed.”
“Aye, sir,” Armstrong said.
“And get me a damage report,” John added. “Did we take any damage?”
“No, sir,” Johnston said. “We took them out before they could do us any real harm.”
“Good,” John said. He reminded himself, sharply, not to get overconfident. Warspite was the product of five years of additional research and development, including ideas borrowed from the Tadpoles. The Russian ships had been old before the war. Their next opponent might be equal, or superior, to the cruiser. “Prepare to deploy KEWs.”
But he knew, all too well, that matters on the planet’s surface might be settled, one way or the other, before Warspite reached orbit.
***
Percy couldn't help feeling a chill running down his spine as he crawled towards the Russian compound, feeling remarkably like the narrator from the VR version of The War of the Worlds. The Russian compound was a brooding fortress, lined with watchtowers and floodlights, watching warily for any signs of incoming attack. Every so often, a searchlight would sweep the surrounding fields, with machine guns and armed guards ready to engage any enemy troops. Percy had wondered, at first, why the Russians even bothered with the searchlights, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised the Vesy would be impressed by the lights. They were more intimidating than unseen night-vision gear.
He held up a hand as the Marines reached the edge of the field, then buried themselves beside a giant haystack. The Russian guards walked around the walls every twenty minutes, a predicable patrol that didn't seem to be altered, even though experienced soldiers should know the dangers. Percy wasn't sure if the Russians were too worn out to care or if it was part of a cunning plan to lure in the enemy, should they wish to engage. Instead, all he could do was prepare himself for the offensive.
Peerce tapped him on the shoulder, then held up his hands to signal that the section was ready to move. Percy nodded back, then resumed his survey of the Russian walls. It galled him to have to give up two of his men, but there was no choice. They were needed to man both the mortar tubes and the antitank weapons. He hoped the Russians didn’t have anyone in armour, or carrying their own antitank weapons. They wouldn't need them, he told himself, to defend their compound. It wasn't as if they were about to be attacked by tanks.
Mark your targets, he signalled, as the guards came back into view. Get ready to move.
His suit automatically zoomed in on the guards; the Russians wore combat battledress, not armour of their own. They didn't look enthusiastic about being outside the walls, something Percy found entirely understandable. Vesy had plenty of wildlife that had developed a taste for human flesh, even if the natives knew better than to touch a Russian near the compound. The guards slouched - he could think of no better word for it - around the compound, then returned to the gates. They didn't seem too concerned about the possibility of being attacked.
But they know the enemy cannot get too close without being detected, he thought. The Vesy did show up on night-vision gear, after all, and they couldn't hide from the sensors. They don't know we’re here.
He braced himself as an alert flashed up in his HUD. Warspite should have engaged her targets by now and, win or lose, the Marines were going to assault the complex. There was no other choice; if they managed to capture the Russians, they might manage to convince the ships to surrender even if they did manage to escape Warspite. The last few seconds were ticking away ...
Behind him, he heard the sound of a mortar being fired. Warspite must have sent the go order, he realised, as he knew the crews wouldn't have fired without orders. The first shell arced high over the complex, then came down on top of the alien barracks. A thunderous explosion echoed through the air, followed by the sound of shooting as snipers targeted the visible guards and watchtowers. Antitank missiles screamed through the air and slammed right into the walls; Percy saw one of the watchtowers explode, then a wall start crumpling inwards as a missile struck home. A second volley of mortar shells came pealing through the air, hammering the other side of the compound. The Russians would have to be dead to miss the fact they were under attack, particularly now. And they would start planning to launch a counterattack ...
He smirked, then jumped to his feet and started to run.
***
General Rybak grabbed for his pistol before his mind caught up with his body and realised that the complex was under attack. He had the weapon half-drawn before he realised that they were under attack by modern weapons, rather than the primitive cannons and blunderbusses the Vesy had developed for themselves. The sound of mortars was quite distinctive, as were the antitank missiles.
“General,” his aide snapped. “We’re under attack!”
“You don't say,” Rybak snarled. He cursed savagely, then started considering his options. “Have the reserve forces deployed now, then moved to seal the walls. Get the sleeping troops up, then into combat armour. And contact the God-King. Tell him I want an army dispatched to support us.”
“Yes, sir,” the aide said.
Rybak glared at his retreating back, then forced himself to think. The warships had been lured away ... and then a ground attack had been mounted, using modern weapons. That could not be a coincidence. He'd been tricked, he saw now; somehow, the enemy had managed to get troops down to the surface, without being detected. In hindsight, not deploying a satellite network had been a major mistake.
It can't be helped, he told himself. Bad rolls of the dice are a fact of life. You just need to roll with the mistakes and learn from them.
“And ca
ll the ships,” he added. He already knew it would be too late, that the ships might already have been destroyed, but he had to try. “I want them back here ASAP.”
“Yes, sir,” his aide said.
The sound of shooting grew louder as the enemy, whoever they were, pressed their offensive against the walls. Rybak had to admire their cunning, even though they seemed reluctant to actually fire into the complex itself. He couldn't understand why, but it gave him an opportunity to mass his troops and launch a counterattack. And the God-King’s army would be on the way, soon enough. Teaching the natives the concept of a rapid reaction force had been nothing less than a stroke of brilliance.
[Ark Royal 04] - Warspite Page 37