Ark Royal 2: The Nelson Touch (28 page)

He sighed, watching grimly as the alien carriers made their escape.  The two sides had each lost a carrier, with one of the alien carriers badly damaged.  But the aliens were much closer to their reinforcements, everyone assumed, than the human ships.  There was no way to be absolutely sure ...

Bracing himself, he keyed a switch to call the Admiral.  “Admiral,” he said.  “The fighters are returning to the ship.”

“Good,” Admiral Smith said.  “Order them to rearm, then prepare for redeployment.  We have a planet to target.”

“Aye, sir,” James said.

***

Henry had always been raised to think of carriers as the queens of space.  They were immense warships, even the smallest carrying over two thousand officers and men, seemingly invincible as they prowled through space.  Even hearing about the first Battle of New Russia hadn't really convinced him otherwise, particularly after tactics were adapted and
Ark Royal
gave the aliens a series of bloody noses.  But now ... an American carrier, the largest in the fleet, had simply been blown into dust.  He couldn't help feeling subdued as he slotted his starfighter into the landing deck and waited for the techs to go to work.

“We’ll get the bastards,” North said, softly.  Even he sounded subdued by the sudden evidence that even a fleet carrier was not invincible.  They'd known about the two British carriers lost at New Russia, but it hadn't been quite
real
.  It was now.  “For
Roosevelt
... and for the others.”

“Yes,” Henry muttered.  “For them all.”

He braced himself as the fighter was dragged through the landing tube, hastily reloaded with new weapons and fuel cells, then slotted into the launch tube.  It didn't look as though they would be shot back out into space at once, much to his relief, but there would be no time to relax.  They’d be going back out soon enough.  Absently, he keyed his way into the datanet and looked through the information gathered by the drones.  Target One supported a vast alien population, perhaps one numbered in the billions.  In fact, one of the analysts had noted, if the aliens had cities that were completely underneath the waves, the population could be a great deal higher than any human world.

It was an odd thought, but Henry had to admit it made a certain kind of sense.  Target One’s oceans covered three-fourths of the planet.  There was no shortage of food in the seas, as he’d learned on one of the few holidays he’d actually had a few days to relax before the reporters showed up to spoil his holiday by writing long articles about how the Prince was shaming himself by fishing in the sea.  If the aliens lived underwater, it was quite possible that they never had to worry about food shortages.  Hell, the oceans still helped feed millions of humans on Earth.  What sort of society would
that
produce?

“We launch in twenty minutes, unless the aliens attack earlier,” the CAG informed them.  “I suggest you try to relax.”

Easier said than done
, Henry thought. 
I couldn't relax right now if you paid me
.

***

“We pulled thirty-two crewmen out of the lifepods,” Lopez reported.  “None of the others were recovered.”

Ted nodded, fighting to keep the emotion off his face.  Five thousand men and women had just died on his watch, including a large number of experienced officers.  He hadn't been able to do anything to prevent it from happening, but he had a feeling the board of inquiry would feel differently.  There were just too many civilians who believed they had the right to pass judgement on the military, even though they knew nothing about it.  Ted was a firm believer in civilian control of the military – military-ruled states rarely worked very well – but there was a difference between civilian control and searching for a scapegoat.

“Make sure they’re returned to the American ships, if they don’t want to stay on the Old Lady,” he ordered.  At least Admiral Shallcross hadn't called him for the express purpose of accusing him of deliberately losing an American carrier.  He’d known British officers who would be less understanding.  “Have the fighters rearmed?”

“Yes, sir,” Lopez said.  “They’re currently held at two minutes to complete launch and dispersal.”

Ted nodded.  If they had to suddenly launch their fighters within seconds, they could do it ... if, of course, nothing went wrong.  The Demon Murphy was still alive and well in space, he knew; something always went wrong.  But the trick was to adapt, react and keep going, no matter what happened to impede progress.  Stopping long enough to remove all the element of risk – if possible – invited disaster.

He keyed the display, looking up at Target One.  It hung in front of him, surrounded by a small galaxy of tactical icons.  Some orbital stations were obvious problems, armed to the teeth and protected by starfighters, others were of uncertain capabilities.  He had a feeling that some of the seemingly innocent stations were civilian, rather than military, but it was impossible to be sure.  The problem nagged at his mind as he worked his way through the data the drones had assembled, wishing he could just
talk
to the aliens.  He could issue warnings, threats and demands for surrender to humans, but how could he say anything to the aliens?

“Call the Marines,” he ordered, as the remaining alien ships kept heading towards Tramline Two, heading – he assumed – towards reinforcements.  “They have some targets to occupy.”

He paused, wondering if the aliens could understand English.  They’d captured a number of teaching machines from Vera Cruz, he knew; they should be able to use them to put together the basics of English, even if they hadn't pulled it from the
Heinlein
colony.  And yet they seemed completely unable – or unwilling – to talk to humanity.  He found it impossible to believe that the aliens were truly unaware that humanity could
talk
, or that they couldn't overcome the language barrier.  There hadn't been any attempt to classify the bare bones of English on Vera Cruz.

“Record a message,” he ordered.  “This is the human commander.  We intend to secure the orbital space surrounding your world.  Any station that fires on our forces will be destroyed.  Any station that does not fire on our forces will be occupied, but not destroyed.  We suggest that you remove the civilian population from your orbital facilities.”

“They may not understand, even if they speak English,” Lopez pointed out.  It was her job to point out when he might be making a mistake – or, in this case, dubious assumptions.  “Or they may think we’re asking them to show us which stations are safe to occupy.”

Ted shrugged.  If he’d been facing a human opponent, a standard warning to evacuate the facilities would have been demanded by the ROE.  And, if the enemy hadn't heeded the warning, any deaths would be on their heads, not on his.  But no one really knew if the aliens could speak English.

He smiled, rather coldly.  If the aliens started abandoning their facilities, he knew, it would be evidence that they
did
understand English.  It would prove that they were ignoring humanity’s attempts at communication.  And that meant ... what?  That they were determined to fight the war to the bitter end anyway or that there was something else going on? 

And besides, he was not going to commit any atrocities if they could be avoided.

“Send the message,” he ordered.  He wished, not for the first time, that someone had managed to get the alien POWs to talk.  They’d shown a fortitude human prisoners would have a hard time matching.  Trapped hundreds of light years from their homeworld, captives of a strange alien race, they still said nothing.  It would have been impressive if he’d hadn't been so desperate to actually
talk
to their superiors.  “Let's see what happens.”

There was no response for nearly ten minutes, then shuttles started to break away from some of the asteroids, heading down towards the planet’s surface.  Ted stared, feeling an odd mixture of relief and fear; there didn't seem to be enough of them to convey
everyone
down to the surface.  If they’d been human ... he shook his head.  Humans showed enough different patterns of behaviour that it was often difficult to tell what a single human would do in a given situation, yet along a handful of aliens.

“They did understand,” Lopez said.  She sounded astonished, as if she didn't quite believe her own words.  “They
knew
what we were saying.”

Ted nodded, slowly.  He didn't blame her for being stunned.  The aliens had been silent for so long that some humans had given up hope of being able to talk to them.  But now there was very definite proof that the aliens understood at least one human language.  It opened up all sorts of possibilities.

“Record a second message,” he ordered.  He waited for her nod, then continued.  “This is the human commander.  We would like to speak directly to your leaders.  If you do not open communications within five minutes, we will commence offensive operations.”

He looked over at Lopez.  “Send the message,” he said.  “We’ll give them ten minutes before we start engaging the orbital defences.”

Lopez blinked.  “Ten minutes?”

“They might not understand our time measurement system,” Ted pointed out.  Even explaining minutes, seconds and hours to the aliens would be tricky.  They’d have to show the seconds ticking by, then match them to names ... which the alien timing system could be very different.  For all Ted knew, their version of hours could be three or four human hours long.  “We’ll give them time.”

The minutes ticked by slowly.  There was no response.

Ted let out a long breath.  It would have been nice to have opened proper communications, if only to discuss the planet's surrender.  They could have moved on to other matters of mutual interest, starting with just why the damn war started in the first place.  But, after their telltale response to the first message, the aliens had just fallen silent again.  Now, though, they had a piece of data for the analysts to study.  Who knew – maybe they could find the aliens on the planet’s surface who understood English and speak to them.

But there was no time for that now.

“The Marines are on their way,” he said.  The Rhino wasn't dawdling either, or bothering with stealth.  His ships would reach the fleet in just under an hour.  “Signal the fleet.  It’s time to start clearing the way.”

He paused, gathering himself.  “The known defensive stations are to be engaged with extreme force,” he added.  “Stations that have not revealed any weapons or the willingness to use them are to be left alone, hopefully so they can be boarded.  Any large chunk of debris that might impact the planet's surface is to be smashed before it can enter the planet’s atmosphere.”

It was a risk, he knew.  The orbital stations might
all
be armed – or they might be rigged to explode when humans forced their way into the stations.  Or, if the alien leadership was trying to drum up support for the war amongst its people, it might have rigged the stations to cause an atrocity, perhaps by knocking one of the asteroids out of orbit.  There was no way to know without taking the risk of triggering any booby traps the aliens might have left behind.   He shook his head; like so many other things when it came to dealing with the aliens, they were facing riddles wrapped in mysteries and enigmas.  If only they could
talk
!

“Order the fleet to engage,” he said, quietly.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Henry smiled as the starfighter was, once again, catapulted out into interplanetary space, followed rapidly by the remainder of his squadron.  A quick glance at his display showed the alien stations marked in a mixture of red and yellow; red for known threats, yellow for potential threats.  Several of them were launching additional starfighters, dispelling any hopes he might have had that they’d already destroyed the alien starfighters defending the planet.

“Shoot,” North commented.  “There's more of the buggers.”

“More targets,” a grim American voice said.  With
Roosevelt
gone, the remaining Americans wanted blood.  “You have the ten on the right, I’ll take the hundred on the left ...”

“Stay in formation,” the Wing Commander growled.  “And try to engage the starfighters away from the stations.  Those bastards are probably crammed full of point defence.”

“Understood,” North said.

Henry smiled.  He had a feeling that they were definitely about to earn their pay.  No one – no one human, at least - had assaulted a heavily defended planet, but all the theorists agreed that it would be bloody.  But the aliens had crushed New Russia’s defences with uncompromising brutality.  Humanity might do as well ... or discover that the aliens had their own surprises waiting for attackers.

He pushed the thought aside.  One way or another, they were about to find out.

***

“Launch decoys,” Ted ordered.  “The frigates are to open fire on my mark.”

“Aye, sir,” Lopez said.  “Decoys launching ... now.”

Ted nodded.  Hopefully, the aliens would suddenly see the human fleet quadruple in size.  They’d know three-fourths of the sensor images were decoys, of course, but it would still be hard for them to separate out the true starships from the illusions, particularly when the missiles went to work.  The alien ability to command and control their defences was about to take a severe beating.

“Order them to stick with Attack Pattern Alpha,” he said, as more and more of the alien active sensor arrays came online.  They would be far more precise than passive sensors, but the human attackers knew where they were now.  “I want all of the alien active sensors targeted for destruction.”