Fear God and Dread Naught (34 page)

As long as they didn't have to share the outer system
, she thought.  Unity had been a fine idea, but it was clearly appallingly bad in practice. 
Our legal system and theirs are just not compatible.

“The system appears to be deserted, Captain,” Charlotte reported.  “There’s no sign of any orbital or planetary activity.”

“And all the usual caveats apply,” Mason commented.

“It looks that way,” Susan said.  “Contact Mr. Finch.  Ask him for an estimate - a honest estimate - of how long we will need to complete repairs.”

“Aye, Captain,” Mason said.

Susan nodded, studying the display as more and more pieces of information flowed into the system.  TPS-271 had seven planets: one Earth-compatible, four rocky and two gas giants, as well as a sizable asteroid field.  It would
definitely
make a good home for a colony, if the legal issues and questions of ownership could be sorted out.  And there were plenty of groups on Earth who would regard the distance from the homeworld as a blessing, rather than a curse.  She was just surprised they hadn't tried to settle Unity.

We needed a fixed government to negotiate with the Tadpole settlers
, she reminded herself, dryly.  Once the war was over, that was a problem that was going to need to be solved. 
The groups that wanted their own world didn't want a government imposed on them
.

“Captain,” Mason said.  “Mr. Finch reports that it will take at least nine hours - he would prefer twelve - to carry out the most important repairs.  The remainder can be handled once we’re back underway.”

“Signal the flag,” Susan said.  “Inform Admiral Harper of the situation and request permission to hold position long enough to carry out repairs.”

“Aye, Captain,” Parkinson said.

Susan glanced down at her console as more and more reports flooded the system.  The engineers were good, but they
were
prone to overestimate how long it would take to accomplish a particular task.  She would have been more impressed if it hadn't made it harder to make plans, although it was better to be safe than sorry.  Losing a fusion core midway to Unity would be very embarrassing, even if it wasn't disastrous.

“Signal from the flag,” Parkinson said.  “The task force will hold position here for fifteen hours, then head straight for Unity.”

He’s cutting it fine
, Susan thought, grimly. 
If the aliens tumble to our game now, they’ll race to Unity at once.  We’ll have barely a couple of hours to smash the first force before all hell breaks loose
.

She glanced at the fleet display and swore under her breath. 
New York
had taken a beating too;
Indianapolis
, thankfully, had only taken minor damage.  But with two damaged battleships, Admiral Harper clearly thought it would be better to make repairs before going back to the front.  And she had to admit he had a point.

“Hold us here,” she ordered.  “Mr. XO, inform Mr. Finch that he has clearance to begin repairs as soon as possible.”

“Aye, Captain,” Mason said.

Susan sat back in her chair and opened the tactical folder, then reviewed all of the details of the last two engagements as her crew went to work.  The alien tactics made sense, she thought, but there was something about them that bothered her.  They could have pushed their advantage against the task force ... yet that would have meant soaking up more casualties.  Were they showing a sensitivity to losses, suggesting that her original theory was correct ... or was she merely engaging in wishful thinking?  There was no way to know.

She read through the tactical reports with a growing dissatisfaction.  The analysts believed that the arsenal ships couldn't be reloaded at speed, although Susan knew that couldn't be taken for granted.  Besides, two-stage missiles were over three times the size of conventional missiles and three-stage missiles would be even worse.  The aliens had expended a vast number of warheads to score a handful of hits on the task force ... she wondered, idly, just what their financial officers made of it.  She knew
exactly
what human politicians would say if the navy requested permission to build so many wasteful missiles.

You plan to fire off five thousand missiles
, she imagined the Leader of the Opposition saying,
and you only expect to score five hits?

The thought made her smile.  Missiles were cheaper these days - mass production brought the price down - but they weren’t
that
cheap.  Everyone
knew
that battleships and big guns were the wave of the future, conveniently ignoring the days when light carriers and starfighters had been considered the latest innovation in war.  If there was one truth about humanity - and about every other known intelligent race - it was that they had no shortage of ingenuity when it came to devising new ways to kill one another.  No doubt something would replace
Vanguard
in time. 

Until then
, she thought, rising,
I have a job to do
.

She toured her ship, supervising the repairs, and then caught a long nap before finally returning to the bridge.  The crew’s morale seemed to be good, despite the battering
Vanguard
had taken.  They knew they’d taken a pounding - and that some of their comrades hadn't survived - but they also knew they’d given the enemy the slip.  Susan just hoped, as she returned to her command chair, that they were right.  The drones wouldn't last forever ...

And then they’ll know they’ve wasted their time
, she thought. 
What will they do then?

“Signal from the flag,” Parkinson said.  “The task force is ready to move out.”

“Take us into position, then set course,” Susan ordered.  “And keep the cloak in place.”

She ran through it in her head, one final time.  Seven days transit time between TPS-271 and Unity.  And then ...

“Mr. XO, you have the conn,” she said, once
Vanguard
was underway.  “I’ll be in my Ready Room.”

“Aye, Captain,” Mason said.

Susan smiled as she rose and left the bridge.  There was no way to avoid the fact that they were going to be outgunned, certainly if the alien reinforcements beat them to Unity, but she’d had an idea.  And if they were lucky, it might just be enough to give the aliens a very nasty surprise.

And if we’re right
, she thought,
we might just win back the entire sector in one fell swoop
.

Chapter Thirty-Four

The settlement was a burned-out ruin.

Well, not
quite
, George acknowledged.  Night was falling rapidly, but she could still see more than she wanted to see.  A couple of buildings were still standing: a brick house and a large barn that the aliens had apparently decided would make an excellent barracks for their troops.  But the remainder of the settlement, a village that wouldn't have been out of place on her family’s estate, had been burned to the ground.  A handful of bodies, lying by the side of the road, stood in mute testament to what the aliens had done to the residents who hadn't managed to flee.  George had heard, as the small party had made their way towards the village, that the aliens had rounded up all of the settlers and shot them out of hand.

She felt horror - and disgust - welling in her gut as she stared at the bodies.  Four of them were clearly men, perhaps the men who’d taken a series of shots at an alien convoy as it tried to make its way along a nearby road.  But the other five were women and children, the youngest barely a babe in arms.  What had
he
- or
she
- done to deserve to die?  The body was so badly damaged that it was impossible to tell if it had been male or female.  She imagined the aliens laughing as they watched the humans die - as terrorists had done during the war - and felt a cold relentless hatred.  Even the Tadpoles, who had bombarded Earth, had never made it so personal.

“Remain calm,” Stott whispered.  “There will be a chance to get at them later.”

George nodded, packing her emotions and locking them away inside her mind as she studied the alien positions.  They didn't seem to be very alert, she noted; there was a handful of aliens on guard duty, but the remainder were inside the barracks, doing whatever aliens did between looting and burning human settlements.  Perhaps they were just catching up on their sleep, she thought, darkly.  It was what humans would have done.

“They’re not that alert,” she muttered.  “Should we move?”

“Not yet,” Stott said.  “Watch them carefully.”

The night grew darker as the alien guards maintained their steady patrol.  George peered at them through her NVGs, realising that the boffins who’d dissected the first alien bodies had been right.  The aliens
could
see in the dark like cats, unless they’d had their eyes modified or ocular implants inserted into their sockets.  She felt sick at the concept, but she had to admit it might be a useful idea.  There was something to be said for not needing a light - or heavy equipment - to move around under cover of darkness.

She looked up, silently counting the stars in the sky.  A handful would be alien starships, she knew, although the insurgents didn't have many binoculars capable of picking them out.  It wasn't as if anyone had anticipated needing a ground-based observatory on Unity - hell, there
wasn't
such a thing anywhere on
Earth
.  Why would astronomers bother with a ground-based structure when building a radio telescope on the far side of the moon was a simple matter of logistics? 

Or putting one in deep space, well away from Earth
, she reminded herself. 
There’s no interference out there
.

The night was silent, save for a handful of nocturnal birds flying around in the shadows as they hunted for prey.  George had heard that the aliens had shot a few of them, probably hoping to supplement their rations with a little meat.  The resistance had been doing the same, although they’d been moving away from areas where plants and animals from Earth had been taking root.  Unity’s far smaller biosphere had fewer edible creatures.  She cocked her head to one side, listening carefully, but heard nothing moving through the night.  The aliens seemed to be completely off-guard.

But they might be the bait
, she told herself, sternly.  She hadn't forgotten the alien force that had attacked her first camp - or the reports of several other camps being located and destroyed after the first wave of attacks. 
They might be trying to lure us into complacency
.

Stott touched her upper arm.  She jumped.

“The resistance will fire the first shot,” he reminded her.  “If they get in and out without trouble, we’ll make our escape shortly afterwards.  Do not fire unless fired upon.”

George nodded, curtly.  Byron had gone through procedures repeatedly, time and time again, before allowing her to escort Stott.  She wasn't blind to the trust he’d placed in her - or the possible consequences if she screwed up.  Stott, she suspected, would have preferred to have been escorted by another marine - or a resistance fighter - although he’d said nothing.  She doubted his newfound respect for her went
that
far.

But they need to conserve their marines
, she thought, grimly. 
Sending me out to fight - and die - makes sense
.

“I’m ready,” she muttered.

Stott glanced at his watch, then keyed a switch.  Moments later, George’s goggles went white - just for a second - as a makeshift rocket flashed out of the surrounding jungle and slammed into the barn, smashing down the door and exploding inside.  The structure burst into flames, an almighty fireball that blasted upwards; she saw, very briefly, an alien shape wrapped in fire before it collapsed back into the shadows.  A hail of shots followed, dropping the guards before they could react.  George watched them fall and felt nothing, but cold vindictive fury. 

Let them die
, she thought, savagely.

Silence fell, save only for the collapsing barn.  The resistance fighters would be already bugging out, if they were still following the plan; they’d be halfway home before the aliens managed to mount a response.  If, of course, the aliens
did
mount a response.  They had to know, she assumed, that there would be a chance to catch the resistance on the hop, but they also knew that time wasn't on their side.  It was quite possible, as Byron had pointed out repeatedly, that they would merely drop a few KEWs on the scene and declare it a draw ...

And then she heard the sound of helicopters.

“Here they come,” Stott breathed.  “Do
nothing
.”

George bit down her irritation as the helicopters flashed overhead, their machine guns chattering loudly as they poured a hail of fire into the jungle.  Someone must have been watching from high overhead, George noted; they were taking care to strafe the spot where the resistance fighters had been, even though they were long gone.  She hoped, grimly, that the aliens didn't decide to start shooting at random - or, for that matter, unleashing salvos of their antipersonnel rockets.  But they held their fire.

“Interesting,” Stott mused.

One of the helicopters came to a halt over the village, a handful of alien troopers rappelling down to the ground as the other helicopters swept around the settlement, guns searching constantly for targets.  George pressed herself into the ground as one flew right overhead - she fancied that she could feel the beating of its rotor blades as it passed - and then looked up, again, to see the Foxes searching the village.  She couldn't help noticing that they seemed surprisingly unconcerned about the bodies, human and alien alike.  There was no attempt to pick up and bag the bodies for burial or whatever the aliens
did
with their remains.

Perhaps they feel the bodies aren't important
, she thought.  A thought struck her and she frowned. 
Or perhaps they’re just leaving them until they’ve finished sweeping the remains of the village
.

The aliens moved in odd jerky patterns.  One moment, they were standing still; the next, they’d be moving so quickly that she could barely see them run.  They were hard to see, even against the burning barn.  She blinked hard, forcing herself to watch as the aliens converged on one another, just long enough to exchange a few words before sprinting away again.  And then one of the helicopters ducked low, dropping ropes towards the ground.  The aliens grabbed hold and were lifted up, back into the dark sky.

And then they were gone.

George blinked.  “What the fuck?”

Stott chucked, rudely.  “Come on,” he said.  “We don’t want to be anywhere near if they drop a KEW on the settlement.”

He picked up his bag, then turned and led the way into the darkness, following a path George knew she would have had difficulty following even in broad daylight.  Branches lashed out at her as she hurried after him, slipping and sliding in the mud.  The marines insisted she should be grateful for the rain - it obscured their trails nicely - but she found it a nightmare.  She was half-convinced she’d slip and break her neck as she walked behind him.

“Their logistics must be beginning to bite,” Stott commented, half an hour later.  They probably wouldn't be
safe
, if the aliens decided to blast the entire area, but so far they hadn’t bothered to do anything.  “Did you notice they didn't use any rockets?”

“They did use machine guns,” George pointed out.  “Why ...?”

“The resistance lured a couple of helicopters into a trap,” Stott said.  “I imagine the aliens leant from that experience.”

George nodded.  “You mentioned their logistics?”

Stott laughed, even as he walked faster, forcing her to hurry after him.  “You think your logistics are bad?  Ours are worse.  Everything we need to bring to the party has to be transported from Earth - or one of the forward bases, if we’re lucky.  A factory ship can produce some items, true, but not everything.  A single MANPAD needs to be shipped all the way from Earth to wherever we want to use it.

“I imagine the aliens have the same problem,” he added.  “There’s fuck-all industry here, so everything they need has to be brought with them.  Quite a pain in the ass if the insurgency stays active longer than they expected.”

“I see,” George said.  She’d assisted
Vanguard’s
officers with logistics, but she’d never had to handle it herself.  Stocking Middy Country was easy compared to deploying a marine unit and making sure it had all necessary supplies.  “So they might just run out of bullets?”

Stott shrugged.  “Depends on what they brought with them,” he said.  “Bullets are easy, with the right tools - other things are not.  Now, keep walking.  I want to be back at the camp before the sun rises.”

George nodded and followed him, trying to think about something - anything - other than the distance she had to walk to reach camp.  If the aliens really
were
having logistics problems, what did that mean?  That the resistance could simply walk in and retake their world once the aliens ran out of bullets?  Or that the aliens might just withdraw to a single defensible point and call down KEWs on anything that looked threatening?  She didn't want to think about what that might mean for the prisoners, if the shit hit the fan.  The aliens didn't seem to be actively torturing or abusing them - not like the Vesy, if some of the darker reports were accurate - but that might change.  She was all-too-aware of the human bodies she’d left behind at the destroyed settlement.

“Bah,” Stott muttered, as dawn began to break.  “You’ll be doing more push-ups later, young lady.”

“Yes, sir,” George said, stiffly.  “But we’re nearly there.”

Stott surprised her by laughing.  “Try saying that to a sergeant,” he said.  “But make sure you do it from a safe distance.”

He said nothing else as they reached the edge of the camp and passed through the outer defence lines.  Byron had made sure to have all the approaches picketed, although he’d admitted that trying to put up a fight - when the aliens arrived - would be nothing more than suicide.  George had been surprised when he’d told her the evacuation plan, but she had to admit it made sense.  There was no point in a number of marines and resistance fighters getting themselves killed for nothing.

“Get something to eat and drink, then join us in the tent,” Stott ordered, once they were through the lines.  “The boss will want to speak to you.”

George nodded and hurried towards the mess.  The food hadn’t improved, not entirely to her surprise.  There was nothing stopping the marines from hunting, but Byron was paranoid about cooking the food, even a safe distance from the camp.  No one had argued.  After the aliens had uncovered and destroyed a number of camps, none of the inhabitants felt like taking risks.