Fear God and Dread Naught (37 page)

She glanced northwards.  The sound of firing was getting louder.  Her captors didn't seem to know what to do - had they killed their commanding officer?  Or did their CO not know what to do either?  They didn't
know
what was lying in wait down the road.  A whole string of ambushes - or an open road to the garrison.  Charging down it blindly might just get them all killed.

They might just force us to walk in front of them
, George thought, grimly. 
And that would get us killed
.

She shuddered, helplessly.  Human shields ... two centuries of brutal combat since the dawn of the Age of Unrest had taught the military not to flinch when terrorists and insurgents used human shields.  Western military forces had done what they could to save the poor unfortunates used as human shields, then hunt down the bastards who’d used them and hang them from the nearest lamppost.  But the aliens couldn't be expected to know that, could they?

I can't do it
, she thought, grimly. 
Whatever they want me to do, I can't do it
.

She closed her eyes in pain.  She’d gone through the Academy’s version of the Conduct After Capture course, but no one had seriously expected her to be captured in the field.  Maybe that had been a mistake - Prince Henry had been captured in the middle of a battle - yet ending up on Unity during the war had been utterly unexpected.  She’d expected, when she’d considered it at all, that she would be taken into custody after a surrender.  The rules were different then, at least for humans.  God alone knew what the aliens considered them to be.

The barking grew louder as the aliens chattered away.  She opened her eyes in time to see one of the aliens jabbing at another with his claws, starting a fight.  The second alien lunged, claws extended; George watched, in growing horror, as they tore at one another, droplets of blood splashing everywhere.  She fought the urge to rise and run for her life as the fighting grew more savage, a moment before the first alien caught the second in the chest with a clawed hand.  The second alien slumped to the ground, dead.  None of the other aliens seemed to care.

And to think I thought that battling Fraser was bad
, George thought, stunned.  Middies were expected to jostle for position, but killing someone - even seriously
hurting
someone - would be grounds for a court martial. 
What sort of military allows its people to kill one another?

The victor turned to its comrades and barked a long string of orders.  George couldn't understand a word, but being hauled to her feet and pointed down the road was easy to understand.  She braced herself to refuse if the aliens tried to force her north, even though she knew it would get her killed; the aliens, instead, ordered her south.  Other aliens materialised out of the jungle as they moved, looking grim and despondent.  Had they lost the fight?  Or were they merely waiting for their space-based comrades to end the battle?

She glanced at the other prisoners, who looked as stunned as she felt.  Everyone had
known
the aliens had stopped taking prisoners.  Had the aliens accepted their submission?  Or had they merely decided not to waste bullets shooting prisoners?  George considered the idea, then dismissed it a second later.  The aliens didn't need to
shoot
the prisoners to kill them.  A single slash of their claws would be more than enough to finish the job.

Gritting her teeth, she looked upwards.  It was growing darker, but she could see the first glimmers of daybreak in the distance.  And the shooting was still going on ... she imagined Byron and the marines punching through the defences, storming the spaceport, slaughtering the alien commanders ...

It didn't matter, she realised dully.  If the aliens were beaten in orbit, the navy could hammer their positions on the ground; if the aliens drove the task force away,
they
could hammer the imprudent humans from orbit.  The battle on the ground
might
have put pressure on the aliens, as Byron had hoped, or it might have been completely immaterial.  She had the nasty feeling, as she marched to an unknown fate, that it was the latter.  Hundreds of lives - and countless pieces of irreplaceable equipment - had been lost.  And it might have been for nothing.

The battle will be decided up there
, she thought, tiredly.  Perhaps she should have gone to one of the refugee camps after all.  It would have made her feel like a coward, but how much use had she actually
been
?
  And everything down here is just a side show
.

She sighed, bitterly, as she kept walking.  There was nothing else she could do.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Susan felt cold as the two enemy battleships advanced towards the human ships, surrounded by nine smaller ships and a light carrier.  Or something she
assumed
was a light carrier, she reminded herself.  After the arsenal ships, she’d be damned if she took anything that
looked
harmless lightly again.

“Confirm,” she ordered.  “Those are our former shadows?”

“Confirmed,” Granger said.  “They’re definitely the same battleships - but they seem to have picked up a couple of other escorts somewhere along the way back here.”

Susan nodded, grimly.  There was no hope of avoiding engagement, not with both
Vanguard
and
Indianapolis
badly damaged.  Their drives couldn't hope to ramp up enough power to escape the aliens, while she knew - all too well - that there were no reinforcements on the way.  She
could
use drones to try to trick the aliens into believing that there
were
reinforcements entering the system, but she doubted they’d fall for the same trick twice.  And that left her with no option, save for a long-range duel against an enemy she knew outgunned her.

“Alter course,” she ordered quietly, as her idea came to life in her mind.  “Bring us about - let them chase us.”

“Aye, Captain,” Reed said.

Susan briefly contemplated their options.  The two battleships could fight a heroic rearguard operation while the remainder of the task force fled, but that would mean surrendering to the inevitable.  And it wasn't in her nature to simply give up.  Besides, if she carried out the engagement properly, the smaller ships could disengage even if the battleships were destroyed.  The carriers wouldn't be able to stand up to the battleships, but they were fast enough to outrun them and their starfighters could dispose of anything fast enough to catch the fleeing ships.

“Signal to the task force,” she ordered, slowly.  “The carriers are to launch starfighters on attack vector as soon as the enemy reaches attack range.  Their objective is to weaken the battleship point defence and sensor nodes as much as possible.”

“Aye, Captain,” Parkinson said.

Susan watched the display, wondering if any of the commanding officers would object.  The reasoning that had put her as Harper’s second no longer applied, not after all of the surviving commanders had had their taste of combat against the new aliens.  And yet, they had to know that there was no time for a debate.  As she watched, acknowledgements flowed in from all of the remaining ships.  Even Yegorovich had accepted her command without a fight.

Probably because he’ll never have a better chance to paint another alien battleship on his hull
, she thought, cynically. 
And because Russia’s reputation won’t survive a disaster if he causes it
.

She forced herself to wait, as calmly as she could, while the alien ships slowly converged with hers.  The task force was moving away from the planet now, daring the aliens to follow them.  Susan would have been surprised if they’d declined the challenge.  Hammering the ground forces on Unity was important, but taking out two enemy battleships and two carriers would be far more
useful
.  It took far too long to build a battleship, despite the best efforts of humanity’s shipyards. 
Vanguard
and
Indianapolis
simply couldn’t be replaced very quickly.

And the aliens will know it too
, she thought, numbly. 
Their technology is on a par with ours
.

“Enemy ships will enter starfighter attack range in twelve minutes,” Granger reported.

“The carriers are signalling that they’re ready to launch the attack,” Parkinson added.

“Good,” Susan said.  She looked at Mason.  “I have some specific orders for you.”

She ran her hand over the console, sending him the tactical diagram she’d worked out as the alien ships grew closer.  It was chancy, she had to admit - and she wasn't sure the programming could be adapted in time - but it was their best chance of actually surviving the next few hours.  Mason’s eyes went wide, yet he took her diagram and began to work without question.  He knew, as well as she did, that they couldn't survive another close-range engagement.

We’re going to have to work on our missiles
, Susan thought, sourly. 
And we might have to start investing in long-range missiles after all
.

“I think this will work,” Mason said.  “But if they notice it ahead of time ... we’re sunk.”

“Quite,” Susan said.  She sucked in a breath as the timer continued ticking down to zero.  “If they like a challenge, we’ll
give
them a challenge.”

She watched him issuing orders, then turned to look at the main display.  The aliens
had
to know they had the whip hand, even though she had far more starfighters than they could hope to deploy.  They might take a beating - they
would
take a beating - but they’d destroy at least two battleships in exchange.  And then ... even if the carriers survived, they’d never be able to retake Unity without reinforcements.

Come on, you bastards
, she thought, savagely. 
Tempting target right here
.

“The enemy has entered starfighter attack range,” Granger reported.

“Order the carriers to launch,” Susan said.  “And tell them I said good luck.”

She gritted her teeth as the remaining fighters - Russian and French - flashed towards their targets, without holding anything in reserve.  The alien carrier launched its own starfighters a moment later, choosing to keep them as a CSP rather than send them out to attack the human ships.  Susan didn't blame him.  His carrier only carried three squadrons, nowhere near enough to break through the wall of point defence protecting her ships.  And besides, they might make a difference against the starfighters closing in on the battleships. 

Not enough
, she thought, as the two sets of starfighters began to exchange fire. 
Nowhere
near
enough
.

The enemy had definitely improved their point defence, she noted, just like the last set of enemy ships.  Had they been sharing notes over the FTL communicator?  She clenched her jaw at the thought - the latest reports suggested that the analysts were
still
unaware of how the damned system worked - and then pushed the thought aside.  There was quite a bit of debris drifting through the system, after all.  Her techs would have a chance to examine the remains in hopes of finding something - anything - that might point them in the right direction.

“The enemy point defence has taken a beating,” Granger reported.  “A number of the pilots also attacked the enemy drives with torpedoes, but they’re very heavily armoured.  Damage appears to be minimal.”

Pity no one ever managed to produce antimatter in large quantities
, Susan thought.  She’d heard a great deal about successive attempts to manufacture antimatter, but none of them had actually produced something that could be deployed. 
Mounting anything larger than a nuke on a torpedo is out of the question.

“Order the starfighters to continue the engagement,” Susan said.  “And start ramping up the ECM.  I want them jumping at shadows.”

“Aye, Captain,” Granger said.  She paused.  “The enemy ships will be in missile range in five minutes.”

“Understood,” Susan said.  It wasn't wholly accurate - they were well within two-stage missile range - but it would suffice.  The enemy either didn't have any more long-range missiles or had chosen not to fire them.  “Keep spoofing their sensors as much as possible.”

“Aye, Captain,” Granger said.

“Signal to the fleet,” Susan added.  “Decoy drones are to be deployed in” - she glanced at the timer - “seven minutes.  They are to go active as soon as they are launched.”

She paused.  “And all ships are to immediately commence ECM pulses.”

“Aye, Captain,” Parkinson said.

Susan had no trouble hearing the puzzlement in his tone.  The aliens had a hard lock on the task force.  There was literally no point in deploying decoy drones, not when the aliens would have no trouble sorting the real ships from the decoys.  Hell, deploying the drones might give the aliens unwanted insights into how the technology actually
worked
.  She was mildly surprised that Captain Trodden hadn't called her to complain.  The drones were American technology and, despite a series of international treaties, their secrets were closely guarded. 

But the aliens will have problems with their sensors
, she thought. 
And that’s the important point
.

“The alien ships are entering missile range,” Granger reported.  “They’re opening fire.”

Susan smiled, rather coldly.  The aliens
had
to know they were wasting missiles, unless they’d come up with a surprise of their own.  Humanity had quite a few missile warheads that were designed to make it harder for the enemy to isolate and destroy individual missiles, but none of them worked very well in the field.  The boffins made all sorts of promises; very few of them, in her experience, were ever kept.

“Stand by point defence,” she ordered, smoothly.  “And fire as soon as they come into engagement range.”

“Aye, Captain,” Granger said.

She paused.  “The starfighters are rearming,” she added.  “They’re going to be out again in five minutes.”

“Good,” Susan said. 

She gritted her teeth as the alien missiles entered her point defence envelope.  A number were blown out of space, but two survived long enough to detonate and send bomb-pumped laser beams stabbing into her ship. 
Vanguard
lurched as red lights flared up on the status display - she realised, grimly, that they weren't going to have to fake engine trouble after all - and then settled as the damage control teams went to work.

“They struck one of the gashes in the hull,” Mason reported.  “We have serious trouble ...”

“Prepare to reduce speed on my command,” Susan ordered.  She glanced at the status display, hoping - praying - that the battleship would hold together long enough for her to carry out her plan.  “Mr. XO, are the missiles programmed?”

“Yes, Captain,” Mason said.  “They’re ready.”

“Signal to the fleet,” Susan ordered.  There was no longer any time to delay.  She'd just have to hope that the aliens were
determined
to kill her ships.  “The decoy drones are to go active, then all ships save for
Vanguard
and
Indianapolis
are to accelerate. 
Vanguard
and
Indianapolis
are to reduce speed on my command.”

Captain Trodden is going to love this
, she thought, as the acknowledgements came in from the remainder of the fleet. 
Indianapolis didn't take anything like so much damage.  They might even have been able to evade the enemy if I’d ordered them to leave
.

She pushed the thought aside.  There was no longer any time for doubts.  Either her plan worked or they all died quickly.  She was damned if she was surrendering, even if she was
sure
she could keep anything classified out of enemy hands.  God alone knew what the aliens would do to them, but she doubted it would be pleasant.  The task force had probably hurt their pride quite badly ...

“All ships have acknowledged,” Parkinson said.

“Missiles ready for ballistic launch,” Mason added.

“Launch the missiles,” Susan ordered.

She looked at Parkinson.  “Order
Indianapolis
to reduce speed in seventy seconds.”