“Oh, you did. But I have a real knack for sniffing out the good stuff.”
Webster had the distinct feeling that he was being out-maneuvred.
“I haven’t had time to go over our orders. As you can see, we weren’t expecting any new personnel.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Nash indicated Webster’s document wallet.
Webster took them over to his desk where he proceeded to read them.
The three others stood in the middle of the room. Markham was still wearing his side arm. Webster wondered absently how effective that might be against someone like Nash.
Silva said, “Can you just clear something up for me? The Renheim received their orders by drone I understand.”
“Yes?” Nash drained his glass. “What of it?”
“There was no mention of another ship, so where did you come from?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“You were on the drone?” Markham said.
This amused Nash who declined to either confirm or deny Markham’s suspicions. Instead, he went and placed his glass back on Webster’s desk.
Webster looked up from his orders. “I assume you’ve seen these?”
Nash indicated that he had but then looked pointedly over at Silva and Markham.
“Let me worry about operational security,” Webster snapped. “You think there’s anything in these reports? Anything worthwhile, I mean?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
Silva said, “Sir, would you like us to leave?”
“No. I think we’ve all been kept in the dark for far too long. Mr Nash – if you wouldn’t mind.”
Webster stepped out from behind his desk and, produced three mismatched chairs, beckoned for Silva and Markham to come and join them. For the first time since Webster had met him, Nash seemed unsure of himself.
“I’m not used to public performances,” he said. “Gives me a dry throat.”
He indicated the whisky bottle and Webster nodded his assent. Nash poured himself a generous glass and then spent a few moments uploading the memory stick included in Webster’s orders onto the cabin’s system.
Webster gave Markham a disapproving stare.
So he’d disabled the system, had he?
Two satellite images of a planet’s surface appeared side by side on the screen. One showed a barren rockface while the other showed a sparsely vegetated vista with a narrow river running through it.
“Notice anything?”
“Those mountains in the background,” Silva said. “They look very similar.”
“Very good,” Nash smiled. “Well spotted. They are the self same range of mountains. Same landscape, only the picture on the right was taken a few months ago while the picture on the left was taken a hundred and seventeen years ago.”
“That’s terraforming for you,” Markham said. “Slow but steady wins the race. I take it this is Tigris we’re looking at?”
Nash turned to Webster. “Commander, I’m impressed. I can see why you wanted these two to stick around.”
Nash took a sip of his drink, waiting for Webster to respond. When he didn’t, Nash went on.
“Okay, so far so predictable. Obviously, there’s thousands of similar pictures but these are the ones that have generated most interest. The exploratory team were asked to chart all kinds of things mostly biological ones but there are some geological concerns as well.”
Silva said, “Isn’t that what we’re good at: finding natural resources and then stripping them out?”
“True. But let’s not forget, it’s that kind of asset stripping which helps keep the navy in new ships. But I digress. This most recent photograph varied enough from the original that when the people back home saw it, they were quick to send out an investigative team.”
“Okay,” Webster said. “And what did they find?”
Nash went around to the other side of the desk and started adjusting the controls.
Meanwhile, on-screen, the image was going through a dizzying, jolting series of enlargements. The changes were so dis-orienting that when he’d finished they looked at one another in a daze.
“So what exactly are we looking at?” Silva sounded irritated.
Nash approached the screen. It was currently showing part of a mountain range. He tapped a section of the foothills, enlarging it further.
They were looking at a long section of rock which had the appearance of having toppled over.
“That’s it?” she said. “That’s what everyone’s so excited about?”
“I take it that this thing is not in the original photo,” Webster said.
“And you’d be right. At first, the analysts were convinced it was some kind of geological disturbance which is why they had the team go out and look at it.”
Another image of the raised land mass flashed onto the screen only this time taken from ground level.
Silva left her seat to get a better look. “And how long is this?”
“Approximately nine hundred metres in length. Roughly sixty metres in height.”
“You sure it’s not just some column of rock that just keeled over? It’d be a lot less obvious if it was standing straight up.”
“Only that’s not the case,” Nash said. “Spectrometer readings make it clear that it’s made up of a lot of different metals. Some of which are completely unknown to us.”
Ah, so that’s what this is all about, Webster mused. Some kind of precious metals. That put a different spin on things.
“No chance it could just be a meteorite?” Markham asked.
“Most meteorites contain very little in the way of metals,” Nash went on. “Some iron ore, perhaps some trace minerals. But these are sophisticated alloys were looking at here. Also, we can’t find any evidence that this thing crashed. There should be some signs of destruction if that had been the case – we’re only talking about a hundred years. Not enough time for those signs to have been erased by the elements. If it was a crash, then it was a very controlled one.”
“Wait a second,” Webster got to his feet. “Is there a chance that this is why the Da’al are here?”
“What do you mean?” Silva said.
“Could this be one of their ships?”
The others surveyed it critically. It didn’t look like any ship they’d ever seen but then, neither did the other ships in the Da’al fleet.
“Supposing it got into difficulties,” Webster said. “They decided to land on the planet but then didn’t have the components to make repairs. Perhaps that’s why the Da’al are here.”
“A little late if they were hoping to rescue anyone,” Markham said.
“Perhaps it’s not the crew they’re interested in,” Silva said.
“Why go to all this trouble to rescue a downed ship?” Markham said. “Doesn’t make any sense.”
“Truth is, nobody knows,” Nash said. “But the powers that be are clearly interested enough to send someone out here to investigate. If there’s a chance they can harvest something from this then they’re only too keen to get involved.”
“Retro-engineering more like,” Markham mused. “For all that we managed a 3-D analysis of the engines on that first Da’al ship, we needed the real thing. Study one of their engines up close - could be a game-changer.”
“Only that’s not it, is it Mr Nash?” Silva went over and took his whisky glass off him. “You’re not interested in the engines, are you? What branch was it again that you say you worked for?”
Nash stood his ground, staring at Silva.
“Advanced Weapons, ma’am.”
“You’re hoping to get your hands on some kind of alien super weapon, aren’t you, Mr Nash?”
“That’s only part of my brief, lieutenant.”
“And the other part?”
Webster stood behind her, his eyes fixed on Nash. “Some of those crates we took delivery of earlier might just give us a clue. There’s an awful lot of explosives on that list.”
“Please, give me a little credit,” Nash said. “You don’t need crates full of explosives to destroy something like this. One decent sized nuke should just about do it.”
Webster said, “So, your job is to get down on the planet and see what can be reclaimed. But then, failing that…”
“We have to ensure that the Da’al don’t get their hands on it. If they have gone to all this trouble to track it down, it must be important to them. Better neither of us have it than they do.”
“And we have a four hour window of opportunity to get all this done,” Silva said incredulously.
“Yes!” Nash exclaimed. “But that’s only the half of it.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
There were four of them in the Dardelion’s conference room: Webster, Silva, Markham and Nash.
Webster had wanted Markham there because he was aware that he’d be the one at the sharp end when the Marines went planetside and he didn’t want Nash overcomplicating things. As far as Webster was concerned this was a simple extraction. Get in, locate anyone who was still alive and get them out again.
The second part of the operation involved getting Nash to the crash site in order that he might plant his explosives. Webster’s orders were clear in that regard – all he had to do in order to fulfil his remit was to get Nash on the ground. They didn’t say anything about getting him off again. If Nash refused to play ball or, in some other way, outstayed his welcome then Webster would have no hesitation about leaving without him.
They had sent drones on ahead to view the planet and were currently viewing the feed from one of them.
For long stretches all they could see were long mountain ranges broken up by lots of snow and ice. Every once in a while they would pass over a stretch of forest or a frozen river.
“Looks pretty bleak from up here,” Webster said.
“No worse than similar conditions back on Earth Prime,” Nash pointed out. “Around northern Canada and Siberia. Wouldn’t you agree, sergeant?”
“My troopers have done their cold weather training and we picked up some cold weather gear from the Renheim. We’ll be able to cope so long as we’re talking about a relatively short time span. Anything longer than that and we might start to have problems.”
“That’s what the suits are there for,” Nash said. “If you’ve got one of them on the temperature isn’t going to be an issue. They’ll keep you alive indefinitely.”
Webster had his reservations about that though.
“I’m not so sure we should go with the suits.”
“Why ever not?” Nash said.
“It’s a training issue. All the paperwork I’ve seen concerning these things stresses the importance of at least six months of regular training and we’re lucky if each trooper has had more than ten hours in the VR suite.”
“I disagree,” Nash said bluntly. He wore no rank or insignia tags yet he had no trouble challenging Webster on the slightest detail. He had to be at least a colonel equivalent, Webster decided.
“It’s not like we’re expecting any opposition,” Nash went on. “I spoke with Captain Meyer and Commander Farnese at length on this matter. The first Da’al ships fired on the survey team’s camp but there was no suggestion that they landed any troops there. Trust me, when we do finally get down to the surface, we’re all going to be delighted that we chose to bring these suits.”
But before Webster could respond, Silva cut in.
“We’ll be coming up on the survey team’s camp in just a few moments.”
The drone had just passed over a small mountain range, the area before it looking even bleaker than what they’d observed earlier. Even the trees were more sparsely situated.
Webster experienced his first moment of doubt then. Despite what Nash had said, it did look brutally cold down there. The idea of a deployment in that sort of terrain, even with proper cold weather equipment, seemed especially daunting. Even though the intention was for him to remain onboard, he wouldn’t rule anything out as far as Nash was concerned.
The first sign of the camp was the transmitter aerial which stood out from quite some distance away. Sections of the support wires holding it in place had been damaged in the attack but the aerial was still standing, acting as a reliable beacon.
As the drone approached, they could make out signs of the devastation the area had suffered when the camp had come under direct fire. Just on this approach vector, they could make out any number of blast craters. The place really had taken a pounding.
Some sections of the camp had been completely destroyed – the units weren’t built to withstand direct fire of any kind and it showed. Still, there were a number of autonomous base units which were still standing and that provided them with some hope.
The power producing infrastructure along with the hydroponic sheds had both been directly targeted and there was little still remaining of either, though it was still possible to make out the camp’s basic lay-out. It was an unruly mess, with sections of insulating foam scattered all over the place. Despite all the debris, in the back of his mind, Webster was still thinking that there was a chance that some of the scientists and technicians might have survived. The real question was whether they’d been able to hold out against the cold in the weeks following the attack.
The accommodation blocks were coming into view now on the eastern side of the camp, marked out by the colourful detritus of personal property strewn across a wide area. Webster thought he saw a pink sleeping bag down there but the drone was past it before he could be certain.
And then, just as quickly as it had arrived, the camp was falling away behind them.
Webster looked at the others sitting round the table.
“What do you think? Honest appraisal. Are we likely to find anyone down there?”
Markham made an expansive gesture, “Depends on the kind of people we’re dealing with. If we’re talking about Marines then I’d say, camp of that size, we’re going to be looking at survivors. But most of those people were civilians, so there’s no telling what sort of training they’ve had and whether they’ve got what it takes to come through something like this.”
Webster nodded. He was thinking about the president’s daughter. After all, she was the real reason they were here in the first place. She’d gone to the far ends of the universe to get away from him but now he wanted her to be brought back home - it was the real reason he’d authorised the mission in the first place. Any other survivors they might find would be a bonus. She would take priority over all of them.
No one else, other than Faulkner, knew that she was even there. And with Faulkner gone, the mission might have died with him. And that put Webster in something of a dilemma. With no record that Faulkner had shared his mission parameters with his second-in-command, Webster had some decisions to make.
Firstly, did they have enough time to conduct a thorough search? Secondly, did he share this intelligence with the others sitting around the table – just to reveal her identity would be to potentially put her life at risk. And thirdly, did he ignore all the usual protocols and take control of the search himself?
He tried to think what Faulkner would do in a similar situation and came up blank. In the short time he’d known him, he’d never once been able to predict what his senior officer might do in a certain situations. He was too unpredictable, which was probably what made him so unique.
“How long before we enter orbit?” he asked Silva.
“Another six hours.”
He didn’t ask about the whereabouts of the Da’al ships. In some way it shouldn’t really impact on what they were attempting to do and, in another sense, he didn’t really want to know.
“Have we got a fix on where this crashed spaceship of yours is meant to be?”
“I provided the lieutenant with all the co-ordinates,” Nash said smugly.
“The second drone should be passing over the site in less than an hour.”
“No chance we might see it via the
first drone?”
“Not really,” Silva said. “You have to consider that there’s a significant distance between the two sites – we’re talking maybe sixty to seventy kilometers.”
Webster looked to Nash. “That is significant. How was it that the science team happened to come across this thing in the first place?”
“There were a number of geological survey teams operating out of the camp. There was some talk initially of them establishing a permanent colony at one point. No reason why they should all stick to the same area.”
Even with details like this, Webster thought, I still don’t trust him.
“That could be good news for us, though,” Silva said.
“What could?”
“These other survey teams,” she looked to Nash. “You said that there were several of them.”
“That’s right,” he said cagily.
“Then isn’t there a chance that some of these teams were away from the base when it was attacked? Perhaps some of those might have survived?”
“I guess so.”
But it was clear Nash wasn’t concerned about finding survivors. That was just an excuse to get him here. All he seemed concerned about was the downed spaceship.
She turned back to Webster. “Then we need to try and contact them.”
Webster was still trying to put the pieces together. “Yes. I suppose we should.”
“And what about our teams, sir?” Markham said. “We still have to make a decision about how they’re to be deployed.”
Webster had been putting the decision off but, with Dardelion fast approaching the planet, he knew that the Marines were going to need as much time as possible to prepare.
“I’m thinking that we split the platoon.”
“Is that a good idea?” Nash said.
Webster ignored him and spoke directly to Markham. “The shuttle can carry thirty men.”
“Can it?” Silva said.
“What I’m proposing is that we drop Sergeant Markham with fifteen men at the site of the main camp to search for survivors, then the shuttle takes Mr Nash and the other fifteen and drops them as close as possible to the crash site.”
Act of War Page 11