Ark Royal

Chapter Twenty-One

“It doesn't look too different from Earth,” Barbie said.

James rolled his eyes. New Russia was Earth-like, right down to an ecosystem that could support human settlement, even if it hadn't produced any form of intelligent life form. The existence of worlds like New Russia had once been used to confirm the theory that humanity was alone in the universe, the sole race to pass through the bottlenecks that led to intelligence and spacefaring status. That theory, he suspected, wouldn't be heard in future. God alone knew how many other intelligent races there were out there.

“Yes,” he said. None of the reporters struck him as particularly intelligent, but Barbie took the cake. “It is, in fact, a remarkably habitable world.”

He allowed himself a moment of relief as his terminal buzzed, calling him back to the CIC. Leaving the reporters in the tender care of the PR officers, he stepped through the airlock and walked down the corridor to the CIC. The Marines on duty nodded as he walked past them, keeping their weapons in plain view. James rather doubted the aliens would try to board the carrier, but the Marines could and did keep the reporters away from the CIC. They didn't want to be interrupted by stupid questions in the middle of a battle.

Inside, a holographic representation of New Russia floated in the centre of the giant compartment, surrounded by a handful of red icons. The alien formation looked oddly familiar; James realised, with a sudden flicker of relief, that it was a formation designed to provide total coverage of the planet below. They hadn't obliterated the Russian population, thankfully. Their formation allowed them to keep the humans under control.

“They’ve taken out the spaceports and a handful of military bases,” the analyst muttered, as he worked his way through the tidal wave of incoming data. “But there doesn't seem to be much damage to any of the cities.”

“For which we should be grateful,” the Captain said. “Is there an alien presence on the surface?”

“Not that we can pick up from this distance,” the analyst reported. “We are picking up a handful of alien radio transmissions, but they’re all located several hundred miles from the nearest city.”

James frowned, studying the holographic planet. “They might be establishing settlements of their own,” he said. “But surely they’d want to keep a close watch on the human settlements.”

“Surely,” the Captain agreed. “Assuming, of course, that they think like us.”

He looked over at the analyst. “Are there any signs they’re occupying the major cities?”

“No, but we would need to move the recon platforms into low orbit to be sure,” the analyst said. “We can’t pick up individual humans or aliens at this distance.”

The Captain nodded to James, then led the way into a side office. “It looks like we will have to go with Plan Gamma,” he said, once they were alone. “Do you have any disagreements?”

James hesitated, then shook his head. Plan Gamma made no attempt to liberate the planet, instead merely raiding the alien positions before beating a hasty retreat. Ivan and his team of commandos could try to make it down to the planet's surface while the aliens swarmed around, giving chase to the impudent human carrier…. and then linking into the recon network to upload messages to the next human formation to raid the system. It should work perfectly.

He shook his head again, sourly. The aliens had some technology that humanity hadn’t been able to duplicate. If they had yet another surprise, something that tipped the balance in their favour, they might be able to win the coming battle. James already knew they didn't dare come within hitting range of an alien frigate. Small as they were, their plasma cannons could do real damage.

“Then we will launch our unpowered missiles towards the planetary occupation forces and use the mass drivers to target their fleet,” the Captain said. “They won’t see the first attack coming, I hope, but after that…”

James scowled. War was a democracy, he knew. The enemy got a vote too.

“Tell the Russians to prepare for launch,” the Captain added. “We will start operations” — he checked his chronometer — “one hour from now.”

Ted felt the seconds ticking away one by one as he reviewed the data they’d pulled from the Russian network. The last Earth had seen of the Battle of New Russia — when the recording starship had made its escape — the aliens had been ripping the defending fleet to shreds. But there was more. Some of the Russian starships had made a final stand, fighting desperately to protect their adopted homeworld. Others had withdrawn into the outer reaches of the system to prepare for the day they could return to New Russia in triumph.

They hadn't been willing to commit themselves, Ted discovered, not entirely to his surprise. By any reasonable standard, Ark Royal was badly outnumbered and outgunned, leaving the Russians convinced that they had to make a hit and run attack, rather than chasing the aliens out of the system. But they had agreed to record the course of the battle, just so Earth would know what had happened. It was the most Ted could reasonably expect of them.

“Sir,” Farley said. “The mass drivers are ready to open fire.”

Ted smiled. One of the little realities of interplanetary combat that civilians were persistently unable to grasp was that an object, once in motion, remained in motion. There was no need for a rocket engine to push the object forward, not like there would be in a planetary atmosphere. The mass driver projectiles would keep going until they ran into something… which, in interplanetary space, wasn't too likely to happen. It was one of the reasons humanity had shied away from using mass drivers as weapons. One could be fired at a starship in orbit and miss, hitting the planet instead with terrifying force.

“Good,” he said. Fourteen of the escorting frigates had their own mass drivers, ready to add their fire to Ark Royal’s own. The targeting wouldn’t be precisely accurate, but hundreds of solid projectiles would be rocketing through space occupied by the alien formation. Unless, of course, the aliens decided to move before the projectiles reached them. “You may fire at will.”

The display changed as the first stream of projectiles launched from the giant carrier, rocketing away at a fair percentage of the speed of light. Ted silently calculated the odds against the aliens spotting them in advance, then silently prayed that the aliens didn't have a piece of technology that shattered humanity’s preconceptions. The search for a FTL sensor had been one of the holy grails of human technology for so long that most naval officers had come to believe it was impossible. But they’d believed the same of long-range FTL tramlines.

“Projectiles away, sir,” Farley said. On the display, the frigates were launching their own projectiles. “Impact projected in two hours, forty minutes.”

“Continue firing until we have drained our magazines to thirty percent,” Ted ordered. He was tempted to throw everything he had at the aliens, but he knew the value of keeping a reserve. It was unlikely that all of the alien craft would be destroyed by the bombardment. “Launch the unpowered missiles.”

He gritted his teeth. It went against the grain to launch unpowered missiles — they had many of the risks of using mass drivers, without some of the advantages — but there was no choice. Unlike the alien fleet, the starships they had covering the planet seemed to alter course randomly, as if they knew they were being observed. The missiles, when they went active, would be able to alter their courses to bring them to bear on the alien ships. None of the mass driver projectiles could be so flexible.

But they're also expensive, he thought, thinking wistfully of the battleship designs he’d seen during the extensive debriefings following their first encounter with the alien forces. Given a few years, we will have entire starships crammed with mass drivers… and lose some of the flexibility in having missiles.

The stream of projectiles came to an end. “We’ve reached thirty percent of our stockpiles,” Farley reported. “Holding fire.”

“Good,” Ted muttered. He raised his voice, fighting the urge to whisper. “Take us out on the pre-planned course.”

The downside of ballistic projectiles was that they didn't change course. Given a few moments, the aliens could easily project their course backwards and locate Ark Royal. But, once they'd moved, the aliens would be wasting their effort… or so he hoped.

He shook his head. Now, all they had to do was wait… and see how the aliens reacted. He tried to form a mental picture of their entire fleet smashed, like bugs, but he knew it wasn't likely to happen. They’d be lucky if they crippled or destroyed more than a carrier or two. “And the Russians?”

“They’re on their way,” Farley confirmed.

Poor brave stupid idiots, Ted thought. The odds against the Russians making it to the surface were staggering — and that assumed that the diversionary plan worked perfectly. If it didn't… somehow, Ted doubted the aliens would just ignore a mystery heat trail burning through the planet’s atmosphere. A single plasma blast would vaporise the Russian commandos, along with their fancy suits and re-entry gear.

He shook his head. All they could do now was wait.

“So the attack is underway,” Yang said. “The aliens have no idea we’re here?”

“So it would seem,” James agreed. Yang, at least, understood some of the implications. And he was smart enough not to demand immediate results. Space was big and — he glanced at the timer — there would still be several hours before they knew what, if anything, they’d hit. “They certainly haven’t ambushed us, even when we moved away from the tramline.”

That had been hair-raising for the naval personal, although he’d been fairly sure that few of the reporters had understood just how much the danger was increasing. The aliens wouldn't launch an attack while the flotilla was nesting within the tramline, if only because the humans ships would simply trigger their drives and jump out. No, he knew, they’d wait until the humans were well away from any means of escape before attacking. But no attack had materialised. Had the aliens thought Ark Royal wasn't going to New Russia after all? Or was the main body of their fleet off trashing Britannia, Washington… or Earth?

It was one of his private nightmares. Ark Royal might attack New Russia, she might even drive the aliens away from New Russia… and then return home to discover that the aliens had torn Earth apart. Maybe the human race knew, now, that the aliens weren't invincible. They still packed one hell of a punch.

Barbie caught his arm. “It's so slow,” she protested. “Why didn't you go closer before opening fire?”

James swallowed the response that came to mind. “The aliens might have detected us,” he said, instead. The problem with modern depictions of space combat, he knew, was that they were fast. Instead of long hours of boredom, there were hours of constant excitement. “We decided to fire from extreme range instead.”

“But they could move,” Barbie said, slowly. “They might not be there when your shots arrive.”

“That’s true,” James said, in some surprise. He wouldn't have expected Barbie to reason that much out; hell, he was mildly surprised she could even tie her own shoelaces. “But it’s a risk we have to take.”

He sighed, inwardly, as the reporters turned back to look at the display. Civilian politicians wanted to minimise risk as much as possible, but military officers knew that some risks just had to be accepted. Besides, it wasn't as if the projectiles cost anything. A few hours alongside an asteroid and the carrier could replenish its stockpiles without particular difficulty.

None of the reporters looked very good, he noted, with a certain amount of malice. They'd been up since Ark Royal had entered the system, remaining awake out of fear of missing something interesting. Hell, even James and the Captain had made time for catnaps, while the starfighter pilots had each spent an hour in the sleep machines. They’d regret it later, James suspected, but it would keep them alert for the moment. But the reporters… it didn't even seem to have occurred to them that they all had access to the datanet. If they missed something personally, they could review it before Ark Royal returned to Earth.

A chime sounded. He looked up at the display, worried. Four new red icons had entered the system from an unexpected direction.

“Four ships, unknown class,” Farley reported. “Temporary designation; Alien-Six. All ships are heading towards the planet.”

James nodded, studying the alien vessels. They were larger than frigates, but smaller than Ark Royal or any other known carrier design, human or alien. Humanity hadn’t been too keen on the idea of producing giant starships, apart from the carriers, believing them to be easy targets. But now… humanity was working on its battleship design and the aliens, it seemed, had larger warships of their own. Judging from the power curves, the ships might be battlecruisers or something similar.

Barbie coughed. “Are they hunting us?”

“I don’t think so,” James said, as reassuringly as he could. Personally, he suspected the aliens were readying themselves to launch an attack on another human world. Ark Royal might have closed one backdoor, but there were plenty of others. An attack on another major colony world — even if it wasn't Earth — would place the human alliance under considerable strain. “I think they’re preparing the invasion.”

He concealed his amusement at her expression, then glanced at the timer again. The minutes were ticking away, but there was still another hour before the projectiles passed through the alien position. If the aliens moved, they would have fired all of those projectiles for nothing. And the Russians were still drifting through space, heading towards New Russia… they’d be dead before they even knew they were under attack.

Poor bastards, he thought.

“Hurry up and wait,” Rose chanted. “Hurry up and wait.”

Kurt sighed. They'd had the opportunity for a shower, as well as a quick nap in the sleep machine, but none of them felt very good. Spending hours in the cockpit out in space was one thing — it was easy to forget that they were in a tiny starfighter when surrounded by the vastness of interstellar space — yet spending them in the cockpit while in the launch tubes was quite another. He couldn't really blame Rose for being antsy. The tension of their first combat jump had faded away, replaced by a tedium that gnawed at their combat readiness.

He clicked onto the private channel and called her. “Behave yourself,” he said, sternly. Had he been such a handful when he’d been a mere pilot? Rose was supposed to be setting a good example for her new subordinates. “There is a war on, even if we are not allowed to fight it just yet.”

Rose snorted, rudely. “At this rate,” she pointed out, “we will be in no condition to fight when the shit hits the fan.”

“Hey, you want to complain, go join the reporters,” Kurt said. “Failing that, shut up and put up.”

There was no reply, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Rose was right, unfortunately; the longer they remained psyched up to launch, the less ready they’d be to fight when they actually blasted out of the launch tubes and faced the aliens. But there was no way to avoid it, unless they gambled on remaining in the ready rooms… but, given how quickly a situation could move from controlled to a desperate battle for survival, they couldn't rely on being able to launch in time.

“Sorry,” Rose said, finally.

Kurt understood. She was young, without the maturity that came with age and greater experience. But then, few of the Royal Navy’s starfighter pilots had any real combat experience… not until now. Kurt suspected that a few years of heavy fighting would rapidly separate the true pilots from the men and women who had signed up merely to wear the uniform. Rose, he decided, would be a true pilot with a little more seasoning.

But, for the moment, she just had to learn to… hurry up and wait.

“Don't worry about it,” he said, kindly. He checked the timer. Twenty minutes until the shower of rocks cascaded through where the aliens were… or had been. Twenty minutes until the aliens knew that they were under attack. Ark Royal and her flotilla had changed position, of course, but the aliens would still have a rough idea of where they were. “Just stay alert.”

He sighed. It was definitely easier said than done.

Ted looked up at the display, mentally ticking off the last few minutes before the projectiles flashed through the alien-occupied position. Behind them, a handful of recon platforms and drones were already manoeuvring closer, hoping to provide an accurate record of just what happened when the projectiles hit home. It would be risky — the aliens would start looking for the platforms as soon as they knew what had hit them — but he needed to know just how badly hammered the aliens had been.

“One minute,” Farley said.

Ted braced himself. If they’d had more ships, with more projectiles, they could have swept more of space for alien targets. But they had to work with what they had. He cautioned himself not to get too optimistic; the projectiles and the alien carriers were tiny, in the grand scheme of things. It was entirely possible that all they’d do was alert the aliens that they were being watched, without hitting a single target.

“Thirty seconds,” Farley added. He counted down the last few seconds. “Ten… five… contact!”