Original Work Vendetta: Final Conflict

Chapter Sixteen



Capricorn Base

21st April 2435



“They’re pushing up towards the fleet carriers now,” McLaughlin reported. “They’ll be in engagement range within five minutes.”



Janine nodded, grimly. Rubicon had been making its way out of the system when the alien attack fleet had arrived and she’d ordered the ship into cloak. A single cruiser couldn't make much difference to the actual battle, but they’d get good records for the analysts before they had to jump out and escape. But watching helplessly as the aliens tore into the human defenders extracted a price of its own. Her comrades were dying and there was nothing she could do to help them.



It was actually harder to track what was going on, even though they had access to the stealthed sensor platforms scattered around the system. The Trolls seemed to be taking a beating, for once, but the human defenders were also losing ships and starfighters faster than they could be replaced. It looked as if the battle had devolved into a battering match, with the winner being the side that could remain fighting the longest, yet the sheer advantage the aliens had in firepower gave them an advantage. Janine could only watch and pray that it wasn't a decisive advantage. There was no way to know just how badly the aliens were being hurt, but she was sure that upwards of several thousand humans had already been killed.



But the aliens might be on the verge of scoring a victory. If they managed to take out the carriers, the starfighters would be doomed, allowing the aliens to complete the destruction of the fleet and the base at leisure. And then there would be nothing stopping them from advancing short of another fleet base, on the edge of the inner worlds. She remembered what the Admiral had said to her and shivered. In absolute terms, losing most of the core worlds wouldn't detract from humanity’s industrial base and population centres, but if the aliens gained a foothold in the inner worlds there might not be time to turn humanity’s vast industrial base into a production centre for military power. At least the bomb-pumped lasers had given the aliens a nasty surprise. Perhaps they could start mass-producing laser warheads for starships and give the human ships a chance to even the odds.



She shook her head, bitterly. All she could do for now was watch and record as 9th Fleet fought what looked to be its final battle.

***​

“The aliens are closing in on the fleet carriers, Admiral,” the tactical officer said. “They’ll be in engagement range in two minutes.”



“Order the carriers to jump out to the RV point when the aliens reach engagement range,” Admiral Davidson said. There was no point in risking the carriers in a close-range engagement with an enemy who had already displayed superior firepower. Besides, the carriers and the starfighter pilots would need time to reorganise their shattered squadrons. “The remainder of the starfighters can return to the base instead of their carriers.”



That was risky, if only because the base was a stationary target, but there was no other choice. “And then move the cruisers in to engage the enemy at long range,” he added. “We might as well try to give the aliens something else to think about.”



On the display, the carriers twisted and vanished into flux space.

***​

Captain David Atwell felt the Australia shudder as she started to launch her missiles towards the alien craft, which were angling back towards the command base now that they had been cheated of their first choice of pray. He half-expected the aliens to jump out, cutting their losses, but they didn't seem to have decided to throw in the towel just yet. Instead, they were angling right towards the command base. Logically, they had deduced that the command base could also support the starfighters – if nowhere near as many of them as the fleet carriers – and they intended to destroy it before completing the destruction of the human fleet. If they managed to wipe out the facilities surrounding Capricorn itself and the fleet base, they would have crippled 9th Fleet even if the majority of the ships remained intact. The fleet would have no choice, but to withdraw to the inner defence lines and abandon the entire sector to the Trolls.



“Keep the range open,” he ordered. The alien craft were faster in normal space than the best the UN capital ships could produce, but they would have to work at overtaking his ships. And then he could jump out to the edge of the system in the hopes that it would force the aliens to come after him again. It would be like waving a red cloth in front of a bull, except that this bull was presumably intelligent enough to ignore the bait. “Try and coordinate our strikes with what remains of the starfighters.”



The alien ships kept advancing, steadily burning missiles out of space as they accelerated towards Australia and her sisters. David cursed under his breath as they kept firing, blasting away at the starfighters as well as the missiles; damn it, he wanted a ship that could do that! The main display counted down the seconds to the moment when the aliens would be able to engage them, when they would have to jump out or risk having alien death rays ripping their ships apart. And then the display changed sharply.



“Tactical,” he snapped. “What the fuck is that?”



“I’m not sure,” the tactical officer admitted. “They’re pulsing artificial gravity waves at us.”



David frowned, puzzled. The gravity waves wouldn't do more than tap his ship lightly – and if the aliens could make a gravity field powerful enough to do real damage, the war was already lost. Besides, if they had such a weapon, they would have used it already.



“Shit,” the helmsman said. “Sir, if we try to jump out while the local gravity field is so variable, we would probably lose control of the flux field. We might end up shredded...”



“Or unable to jump at all,” David finished. The aliens had pulled off something devious, he had to admit; they couldn't be stopped from entering engagement range now. And then his ship and her sisters would get torn apart. “Prepare to switch to sprint-mode fire; if we all fire at once they will have to split their attention between us and the missiles.”



“Alien ships entering engagement range,” the tactical officer said.



“All units, this is Commodore Powell,” a new voice said. “Squadron orders; all ships scatter. I say again, all ships scatter.”



“Scatter,” David ordered. It made sense; at the very least, the aliens would have to decide between wasting time trying to destroy the entire squadron or letting them go as they closed in on the command base. “Pull us back and...”



“Alien ships firing,” the tactical officer snapped. “They’re targeting...”



Australia shook violently as an alien death ray sliced into her rear hull. A moment later, the artificial gravity failed as a series of explosions rocked the ship, culminating in an explosion that rocked the bridge. Half of the consoles failed while the remainder lit up with bright red warning lights. There were so many damage reports that David knew that there was no hope of saving the ship.



He keyed his wristcom as he unhooked himself from his chair. “All hands, abandon ship,” he ordered. “I say again, all hands abandon ship...”



The bridge seemed to suddenly blaze with light. There was a moment in which David knew that it was already too late, and then the world slipped into darkness.

***​

“Admiral, they have destroyed the 12th Cruiser Squadron,” the tactical officer reported. “The starfighters are closing in to attack range now.”



Admiral Davidson nodded, grimly. Who would have thought of using gravity waves as a weapon? How did they even manage to focus them against enemy targets? Combined with their death rays, it was a remarkably simple trick that forced their targets to stand and fight against superior firepower. Maybe they could reprogram navigational computers to ignore the artificial gravity waves, disengaging the safety interlocks, but that might just result in the flux drive field tearing the ship apart.



They must not be able to use it at very long range, or they would have used it against the carriers, he thought. At least it wasn't something that would force the UN to fight on unfavourable terms. But right now it hardly mattered. The aliens were closing in on his command base and he doubted that the starfighters would be able to do enough to stop them from taking out the base.



“Order all non-essential personnel to their emergency positions,” he ordered. He’d kept a couple of passenger liners back from the general evacuation, preparing them so that his people would have a chance to escape. Against any normal enemy, he would have been willing to surrender once the remainder of his command had jumped out, but this foe had made it alarmingly clear that they were prepared to slaughter helpless humans in lifepods. Once they got into danger range, he intended to overload the base’s reactors and try to take out as many ships as possible in the blast. Or there were enough nuclear warheads in the missile stores to make one hell of an explosion. “And then order the remaining starships to pull back to the RV point...”



“Admiral,” the sensor officer snapped. “I’m picking up...”



Admiral Davidson swung around to look at the main display, which had just started to flicker with new icons. “It’s the 5th Fleet, Admiral,” the sensor officer said. Ten new fleet carriers, a dozen assault carriers and over thirty freighters that had been modified to carry and laugh fighters in combat operations...enough firepower to deter any normal foe. But the Trolls had shown their willingness to engage numerically superior foes before. “They’re here!”



“Order them to launch their starfighters and engage the enemy,” Admiral Davidson said. He hadn't dared hope that 5th Fleet would arrive in time. Admiral Ivanovo had been careful not to make any promises. “And then order our cruisers to open fire with long-range missiles on the alien ships.”



It proved to be unnecessary. Five minutes after 5th Fleet had started to launch its fighters, the Trolls hesitated...and then jumped out of the system. Davidson watched carefully, half-convinced that the Trolls intended to relocate themselves to a better position, before realising that they’d actually forced the aliens to retreat. For the first time, humanity had produced a clear-cut victory, even if it had come at such terrifying cost. Nearly three thousand starfighters had been wiped out, along with thirty starships and their entire crews. It would have been a great deal worse if 5th Fleet hadn't arrived.



“Recall the starfighters and send one of the pickets to call back the carriers,” he ordered. Some of 9th Fleet’s fighters would have to land on 5th Fleet’s carriers until their own carriers returned to Capricorn. It would be confusing and cumbersome, but they’d manage; they were, after all, the problems of victory. The Trolls had to be feeling worse. “And then start launching the SAR pickets. I want every lifepod recovered before it’s too late.”



And then the entire command base erupted into cheers.

***​

Connie could tell that her life support was running low, even though she should have had enough air to last her for at least forty more minutes. It was rare for a starfighter pilot to be able to eject in a conventional fight, let alone one against the Trolls – and it was far too possible that one of her cockpit’s life support units had been destroyed when the Trolls hit her starfighter. Or maybe she’d simply rammed a piece of debris. Most of her computer systems had shut down to avoid radiating betraying emissions that might have attracted the Trolls to vaporise the cockpit, which meant that she was completely alone in the inky vastness of space. She had more familiarity with the true nature of interstellar space than any civilian – or any crewman on one of the massive fleet carriers, for that matter – yet she couldn't deny that it still held terrors for her.



She peered outside into the darkness, looking at the eternal light of distant stars – no twinkling in outer space, where there was no atmosphere to provide the effect – and shivered. There was no way to know what was going on out there, but unless the human race had had a stroke of good luck the Trolls had smashed the fleet base and chased away the carriers – or simply destroyed them. If the fleet had been forced to retreat, she would be alone, with the only people who could pick her up being the Trolls. And they had been more willing to vaporise harmless lifepods than take prisoners. Indeed, all of the reports from New Marseilles indicated that the Trolls didn't take prisoners at all.



It puzzled her – and she knew that it puzzled the analysts. Surely they had to understand that treating human prisoners well would convince humanity to treat their prisoners well. Even the Magana, barbarians though they had been, had known better than to deliberately mistreat prisoners. But the Trolls had destroyed lifepods, nuked cities and shown a willingness to completely eradicate some worlds of their human population. Her mind chased the thought around and around, wondering just what drove such an alien race. Did they find the human form too unspeakably disgusting to be allowed to exist? Such xenophobia was far beyond most human xenophobes – it wasn't as if humans had to encounter aliens on Earth, or any world outside the Triangle and the joint settlements there – but these were aliens. Or maybe they believed that humanity had done them some wrong in the past.



Shaking her head, she looked down again at a single injector tab at the bottom of her medical supplies. It wasn't often talked about, but every pilot’s nightmare was dying alone in interplanetary space as the air ran out. The tab would allow instant, painless suicide – although, she acknowledged with a bitter smile, the manufacturers wouldn't have anyone coming back to complain if the tab wasn't as painless as they promised. Maybe it was her time to die. The Trolls wouldn’t take anyone alive if they had won the battle...



Her radio hissed, picking up a sweep from a SAR craft. A moment later, the emergency beacon snapped on, providing her precise location to the hunting craft. Connie stared in disbelief as the SAR craft came into view, her pilot neatly tipping her so that she scooped up the lifepod into her cargo hold. Connie felt gravity reasserting itself as the cargo hold’s hatches slid closed, followed by the hiss of air as it was pumped into the hold. She managed to undo her cockpit’s locks and climb out into the hold as a medical team raced forward and caught her, pulling her into the next compartment.



“I’m fine,” Connie insisted, knowing that it wouldn't do any good. If her life support had been contaminated, she might have been breathing poison – or something that would confuse and disorientate her. They would have to put her through a test to be sure. “What happened?”



“We won,” the medic said, as he pushed an injector tab against her neck. The stimulant would give her enough energy to keep her on her feet until they returned to the carrier. “You’re the ninth pilot that we pulled out of the vacuum since the end of the fighting.”



Connie stared at him. “We won?”



“The 5th Fleet came into the system and caught the Trolls by surprise,” the other medic said. She patted Connie’s hand, seeming to understand her astonishment. “They had already taken a battering and so they decided to fall back and leave us alone.”



“It won’t be for long,” her companion grumbled. He pressed a sensor against Connie’s chest and nodded. “You should be fine, Flight Captain. We’ll drop you off on your carrier before too long – they shouldn't have any difficulty finding you a spare fighter.”



No, they wouldn’t, Connie thought. Too many pilots would have died, their starfighters blown apart by alien death rays. Even if they had forced the aliens to retreat, how long would it be before they came back with more ships? It wasn't as if another fleet was waiting in the wings to relieve Capricorn for a second time. In the days before the Trolls – it felt like a lifetime ago – the standard procedure would be to have pilots returned to the inner world for some leave before recertifying them for flight duty. Now, she would be pointed towards a new starfighter and told to take it out and join the fight.



“And the media seems to have arrived in force,” the female medic added. “I guess they might be interested in interviewing you, if you’re interested. Some of them have been sending random spam through the communications network to get people to open up to them.”



Connie snorted. “I think I’d prefer to have a broken bottle stuffed up my ass,” she said, remembering the Flight Captain she’d pulled into bed...had it really been only a few hours ago? It felt as if she had been floating in space for years. “They can't really want to interview me.”



“There weren't that many survivors from those who found themselves in space,” the male medic said. He seemed rather amused at her horror. “You’re going to be newsworthy for quite some time.”



Connie rather doubted it. Standard UNNS doctrine was to put in a second assault as quickly as possible if the first assault had failed. The Trolls were unlikely to disagree. She might just, if she hurried, be able to get back into her starfighter before the Trolls returned to Capricorn. And God alone knew what would happen then.

 

Great read. You are really doing a good job showing the divide between those who are faced with imminent invasion and those who only recognize the threat as an the abstract.

Thanks

 

I love the sci fi stories!

 

Chapter Seventeen



Luna

23rd April 2435



“We are all relieved to hear that your forces were successful in beating off the attack on Capricorn,” the Ambassador from Edo said, “but we fail to understand why you are reluctant to authorise a peace mission to the...ah, Trolls.”



Grand Admiral Anton Ivanovo scowled inwardly, although he kept a bland expression on his face. Politicians rarely grasped the realities of military operations at the best of times – and these were hardly the best of times. While the Battle of Capricorn might have been a victory for the human race, it had come at a high price – and the Trolls had chosen to retreat rather than be driven out of the system by force. There was no way to know just how badly they had been hurt overall – there was no way to know if the UNNS had destroyed point one percent of their fleet, one percent or ten percent – but he doubted that the Trolls had been beaten permanently. They would likely adapt, react and return to Capricorn to overcome.



The victory had also cost the lives of far too many starfighter pilots. Everyone with any flight training at all – and no other job – was being rushed into the training centres, but it took time to produce a starfighter pilot, even with the program slashed down to the bare necessities. Producing new starfighters also took time – and the politicians had refused to authorise an emergency rationalising of the human race’s colossal productive capability. It was alarmingly possible that the UNNS would run out of starfighters before it ran out of pilots, even though Anton had given orders to transfer several dozen squadrons and pilots from various fleets to Capricorn. And they might not arrive in time before the Trolls returned to the system.



“We may have convinced them that Capricorn is too tough a target to take at this moment,” he said, “but we are far from ready to push the Trolls back to wherever they come from. It will take time to build up a force designed to minimise their advantages and start taking them on under more even terms. A peace mission right now might be taken as a sign of weakness.”



The thought almost made him scowl. There was a peace lobby, composed of liberals from the inner worlds on one hand and politicians from outer worlds who were threatened by the Trolls on the other. Anton would have been a great deal more enthusiastic about launching a peace mission to the Trolls – hoping that they would come to terms with the human race now that they’d picked up a bloody nose – if there had been any signs that the Trolls were willing to listen to human diplomats. But even though they must have deciphered a stellar database – there had been no hint that they were surveying human space – they had simply ignored all previous attempts to communicate with them. There was no reason to believe that a more formal peace mission would actually succeed.



“But this war has already put a colossal strain on our system,” one of the other Ambassadors pointed out. New Moscow had been loudly reluctant to take any refugees from the outer worlds and had had the clout to make it stick. The growing refugee crisis was yet another problem for the UNNS, although several worlds had been more receptive to the refugees than New Moscow. But as the Trolls pressed onwards, the people who had been willing to take the refugees in might become refugees themselves. “We need to put an end to it.”



“It takes two sides to make a peace,” Anton said, tiredly. “So far, the Trolls have shown us nothing, but remorseless hostility. What do you think we can offer them to convince them to stop trying to take it by force?”



There was one possible answer to that; some of the captured outer worlds. Anton had no doubts that the inner worlds would happily accept the loss of the occupied worlds in exchange for peace – and no doubts that the outer worlds would see it as a betrayal. There were already political catfights in the General Assembly over possible peace terms that might be offered to the Trolls, although the victory at Capricorn had temporarily silenced the ‘peace at any price’ crowd. It didn’t seem to have occurred to the wealthy and powerful worlds that made up the controlling bloc in the General Assembly that ‘any price’ could include their own worlds. The Trolls were still hundreds of light years from their territory.



“If we can convince them to talk, we can convince them that we can co-exist,” one of the Ambassadors said, finally. It wasn't an answer to Anton’s question. “Admiral, we need to end this war as quickly as possible.”



Anton didn't disagree with the sentiment, but he did question their ability to bring the Trolls to the negotiating table. But they had grown up in a world where their wishes shaped reality, where they could rig the political game in their favour. It hadn't occurred to them, not really, that the Trolls were outside their political game – and the tools they had for forcing the Trolls to talk peace were probably not up to the task. Why would the Trolls talk – let alone bargain from a weak position – when they knew perfectly well that they held the technological advantage. One defeat didn't mean that they’d lost the war.



The analysts hadn’t been able to offer any theories on just what the Trolls thought they were doing, or at least none that were backed up by any evidence. Post-battle assessment teams had gone through the debris at Capricorn, looking for debris from Troll starships, but they’d been unable to recover anything that reassembled a computer system. Anton wasn't surprised – UNNS starships were designed to purge and then destroy their computer cores if captured or crippled beyond hope of escape – yet it made it harder to understand their new enemy. It would be a great deal easier to plan their defeat if they knew just what the Trolls thought they were doing.



But all they had were theories. One theory stated that the Trolls had no idea just how large the UN actually was – and that they’d picked on New Marseilles and the other worlds under the impression that they were all humanity had. But they’d clearly picked up a navigational database from somewhere, so they must have known better before launching their invasion of human space. Another theory, far more believable, was that the Trolls were working to conceal their full numbers from the human race, which suggested that they committed their forces in numbers they believed to be sufficient for any given task. Apart from Capricorn, they’d been right every time. And Capricorn had only been saved by the unexpectedly early arrival of 5th Fleet. There wouldn't be a second miracle like that.



“I quite agree,” he said. “However, bargaining from a position of weakness – and we will be bargaining from a position of weakness – is not conductive to getting the best terms possible. Have you thought about what they might demand from us? Or what we are prepared to surrender if they are willing to talk peace?”



“A diplomatic mission will be dispatched from Capricorn, led by the High Commissioner for that sector,” the Ambassador from Edo said. They’d planned it out before consulting him, Anton realised. “Unlike previous encounters, they will travel in an unarmed and unescorted civilian starship, one that will present no threat to the Trolls. We believe that making a calculated gesture of submission will attract their attention.”



Anton wondered, rather cynically, just who the High Commissioner had offended to get that mission. “I believe that a second starship should be detailed to accompany the peace mission,” he said. “If something were to happen to the passenger ship, there would be no way of informing Capricorn. The second starship could remain under cloak and well clear of the Trolls.”



“But they might take that as a hostile move,” one of the Ambassadors protested. “What if they detect the cloaked ship?”



“The evidence suggests that they are unable to track cloaked ships, certainly not at long range,” Anton said, as patiently as he could. Rubicon had certainly managed to slip close to New Marseilles without being detected. Unless the Trolls had been tracking her and had been reluctant to show their hand...no, that made little sense. The cruiser could have been – and had been, in a sense – a scout for an attacking force. Unless their tactical doctrine was completely alien, the Trolls would have been much better served by destroying the cloaked ship as soon as they discovered her. “A second ship will pose no threat to the peace mission, Ambassador.”



The Ambassadors exchanged glances. “Very well,” one of the others said. “You will have your second ship, Admiral.”



Anton nodded. He wanted to raise the issue of rationalising humanity’s industry, but they weren't panicked enough for that to be pushed through without a fight. Why was it, he asked himself bitterly, that humans were reluctant to take extreme measures until it was too late? The corporations that owned much of humanity’s industrial base had been lobbying against the emergency rationalisation ever since the prospect had first been raised in the General Assembly, claiming that it was the first step to government control and eventual ruin at the hands of planners who were ill-qualified to direct business in any direction. Outside war, Anton would have agreed; the free market was much more efficient than any government-controlled industrial system. But this was war and the human race needed as many starfighters – and missiles, mines and torpedoes – as possible. Dozens of different corporations doing their own thing wouldn't be anything like as efficient as central control in wartime.



“Thank you,” he said. “And I do hope that the Trolls will listen to us.”



“I’m sure they will,” the Ambassador from Deutschland said. “We slapped them back at Capricorn – they have to be reconsidering their hostile aims now that we beat them in one system.”

***​

“What’s the word from Earth?”



“Plenty of people are relieved after the Battle of Capricorn,” Commander Susan Hathaway reported. It galled Anton to be monitoring civilian morale, but there was no choice. These days, panic in the civilian world could translate instantly to changed policies coming out of the General Assembly. “But for a great many people, Capricorn might as well be in another galaxy. They just don’t see the true nature of the threat.”



Anton nodded. Earth was surprisingly insular for a world that had given birth to one of the largest galactic political units known to exist. But them, everyone who was interested in moving to another planet – one where there were no other nations – had already done so. The nations that remained on Earth were shadows of their former selves, collecting money through the tourist trade and exporting people to new colony worlds, some more willing than others. It was the Halo – the ring of settlements in orbit around Earth – that provided the system’s industrial might. And the Halo had long since cut itself free of Earth.



“The outer worlds are less convinced that the threat is over,” Susan continued, grimly. “They’re still evacuating as much of their population as possible, and doing what they can to provide arms and shelter outside the cities to the rest of their people. I think that the refugee crisis is going to get a great deal worse, Admiral; we’re already pushing the limits of what we can transport with the commandeered freighters and the fleet train. And we don't have many places willing to take the refugees without question.”



“See if we can recruit pilots from among them,” Anton said, although he knew that it was unlikely. Priority in the evacuation was being given to pregnant women, children and the elderly. They were trying to make sure that each family had at least one parent allowed to join the evacuation, but it wasn't an easy task. Vast numbers of children had been sent off-world without any parents at all. Even if the Security Council was right and the Trolls had taken enough of a bloody nose to convince them to sue for peace, it would take years to sort out the mess and return the children to their homeworlds. “I thought that the RockRats were offering to take some of the refugees.”



“Yes, Admiral, but they’ve also made it clear that they only want to take children,” Susan admitted. “They’re worried about introducing adults into their fragile political biospheres, according to their Ambassador. But if the children end up converting themselves into RockRats...”



Anton snorted. If the children remained with the RockRats for longer than a few months, they would probably be given genetic treatments that would adapt them for life in space – and a whole series of improvements that mocked the laws the UN had enacted to prevent all such improvements. And if they then returned home, they would spread their modified DNA throughout the planet’s gene pool, breaking the laws spectacularly. There was no point in trying to ban the RockRats from doing anything; their individualistic culture insisted that the children themselves would have to make their own choices about the future.



“Under the circumstances, I don’t think that that is a major problem,” he said, finally. No doubt it would worry the General Assembly, which had been firmly against genetic modification ever since the first gene-splicing techniques had been developed, but it couldn't be helped. Perhaps it could be used to leverage other planets into opening themselves up for refugee settlement. “If they’re willing to take the children, let them take the children. God knows no one else is willing to take on the job.”



He looked down at the desk, and then up at Commodore Ellis. “Did the techs come up with any new designs for bomb-pumped lasers?”



“We have several designs in production now,” Ellis informed him. “One design has been rigged into a missile for ship-to-ship combat; it’s nowhere near as efficient as the proximity and contact nukes we used before encountering the Trolls, but they should be able to detonate just outside the Troll engagement range. If we can scorch their hulls, Admiral, we should be able to disarm them without having to lose so many starfighters in frontal attacks. Closer detonations will actually do considerable internal damage.



“A second design has been created for actual close-range combat,” he added, “but the problem is that the design is...somewhat faulty. The weapon will only get one shot and there’s a faint possibility that the nuke will actually destroy the firing ship. I’d suggest mounting the weapons on tugs rather than anything larger – so far, the techs haven’t been able to come up with a design that can be considered safer.”



“Unsurprisingly,” Anton commented. Hullmetal was strong, but a nuclear explosion right on top of it would be guaranteed to cripple the ship. Besides, the Trolls could burn through hullmetal with terrifying speed. “I assume that mass production has already begun?”



“Yes, Admiral,” Ellis said. “I’ve had the specs sent to every production facility in the United Nations. It should take some weeks to have them retool some of their production nodes to produce the new weapons, but once they’re ready they should be able to turn out thousands of missiles relatively quickly. The real bottlenecks lie in producing bomb-grade material and we have plenty of sources in the asteroid belts. One of my subordinates actually suggested trading the plans to the RockRats in exchange for mining assistance.”



“See to it,” Anton ordered. The RockRats were preparing for war too, with all the strengths and weakness of their strange culture. He’d been a younger officer during the dispute and he still remembered how civilian craft had torn apart a handful of UN ships that had taken their civilian nature for granted. The RockRats were the master spacers of the galaxy and it showed. “Did the post-battle assessment team come up with anything interesting?”



“They’re still working on samples they recovered from the battle, but they did manage to analyse the material the Trolls use in place of hullmetal,” Ellis said. “From what they were saying, it looks as through the analysts were right on the money when they claimed that the entire enemy ship is a weapon. They can fire in any direction, apart from into their blind spot; their hull somehow channels their death rays towards their targets. I think they had a theory for taking advantage of that system, but so far they haven’t sorted it out into something workable.”



He paused. “The odd thing is that we recovered a second body from one of the wrecks,” he added. He tapped a switch and a holographic image appeared in front of Anton. “It doesn't look anything like the body recovered from New Marseilles.”



Anton’s first thought was that he was looking at a biological table. The alien was very alien, with a large body mass and four stumpy legs reaching down to the ground. There appeared to be an eye at each corner and a mass of manipulative digits – the alien equivalent of hands – hanging down from the body mass. Anton found himself trying to imagine how the alien walked – not well, he deduced. Or perhaps the aliens were used to running along on four feet.



“It is clearly related to the body we recovered from New Marseilles, but I’m afraid that it’s DNA was scrambled too,” Ellis explained. “The analysts think that one set of aliens actually created the other. I’m afraid we don't know which one is which.”



Anton shivered. Humanity hadn't managed to design a non-humanoid version of humanity, at least outside the RockRat projects that pushed the limits of genetic engineering. But these aliens clearly had managed something that should have been impossible. And if the aliens had no particular qualms about creating subordinate races, what might they have in mind for humanity?



“Dear God,” he breathed. “What the hell are we fighting?”

 

Chapter Eighteen



Capricorn Base

24th April 2435



Hind had been on military bases before, but Capricorn seemed to be the largest and certainly the most active military base in the United Nations. It was practically thrumming with activity as the base’s personnel prepared for a second attack, an attack that could come at any time. Hind had ridden out with the shuttles that had sifted through the wreckage, looking for alien technology that could be salvaged and sent back to Earth for analysis, and watched grimly as the recovered bodies were launched into space on a trajectory that would eventually put them in the nearest star. The latest figures claimed that upwards of eight thousand humans had died in the fighting – and it would have been a great deal worse if 5th Fleet hadn't arrived in time to save the day.



Her escort had been surprisingly good about arranging interviews with officers and enlisted men who were willing to talk to her, but Hind had no doubts that the people she was allowed to see had all been carefully briefed on what they could and could not say to the nosy reporters. Wars were fought with PR as much as they were fought with guns and warships, at least on Earth, and the military knew that a single bad report could cause a major drop in public support. Hind suspected that the situation wasn’t as bad as they claimed, but there was no point in rocking the boat too much. They had all been warned that pushing the limits of what they were allowed to send back home would result in arrest, detention and eventually being shipped back to Earth in disgrace. There were reporters who regarded being evicted from a military base as a badge of honour, but Hind knew that she couldn't do her job effectively if she was sent back home.



She walked down the corridor, trying to pretend that she belonged on the base, and into a compartment that had been marked out for her by her escort. It was a giant bar, something that she wouldn't have expected to find on a military base – but then, the military personnel needed to rest and relax as much as anyone else. Maybe more, in their case, she reflected; one of the officers she’d interviewed had commented that all of the privacy tubes were booked up for the next three months. Hind suspected that he was exaggerating a little – military regulations on who could have sex with whom had always confused her – but she found it hard to blame them. They’d been reprieved from almost certain death.



The starfighter pilot she’d been promised a chance to interview was seated in the far corner, underneath one of the giant windows that looked out into interplanetary space. Outside, Hind could see dozens of starfighters flashing past while men in worker bugs worked desperately to repair damaged starships and put them back into service as quickly as possible. Beyond them, it was easy to imagine that some of the flashing lights belonged to the fleet, standing at the ready to repel the Trolls when they returned to the system. No one seemed to believe that the Trolls would simply give up now that they’d taken a bloody nose.



Hind picked up a drink from the counter – apparently, the booze was free, but there were dire warnings about what would happen to anyone who turned up unfit for duty – and walked over to the pilot, who glanced up at her listlessly. Like many settlers from the outer worlds, she was a curious mix of human ethnic types, appearing a cross between Chinese and Nubian genes. There were planets where the population had been genetically altered to preserve a racial look that would otherwise have blurred into the rest of humanity; Connie Chung, perhaps, had had parents who had left one of those worlds. They were never very kind to anyone who refused to fit into the rest of the society.



“You may as well sit down,” Connie said. She sounded tired, as if she’d been pushed right to the limit. In theory, starfighter pilots were supposed to have downtime that matched the time they spent in their cockpits, even if they were not in combat, but those theories had been abandoned in wartime. Hind had heard from one of the other reporters that a number of pilots had been busted for using – and abusing – stimulant drugs to keep themselves alert during the endless patrols around the base. “It’s not as if I’m going anywhere.”



“I understand,” Hind said. “I think...”



“You don’t understand,” Connie snapped. Her dark eyes, set within her dark face, flashed fire. “I spent an hour floating in space, completely helpless, knowing that every second could be my last. And now they insist that I take a break before I return to duty.”



Hind blinked in surprise. “You don't want a break?”



“The remains of Blue Squadron are still out on the firing line,” Connie said, her voice softening. “I’m only on reserve because some of the others were panicking when they were picked up by the SAR team. And if the aliens attack now, I’m going to be completely helpless again while my friends and comrades go into battle and probably die bravely.”



Her eyes seemed to harden. “Have you looked up the combat statistics since we encountered the Trolls?” Hind shook her head. “A pilot has only a fifty-fifty chance of surviving any given encounter,” Connie explained. “And death isn't something that repeated exposure makes you immune to catching. We lost a third of our starfighter pilots in this battle – other battles had a higher loss rate. I should be out there with them!”



“I see,” Hind said, although she wasn't sure that she did. If she’d been offered a chance to escape the front line, she wasn't sure that she would have refused it. But the starfighter pilots had trained all their lives to put their bodies between humanity and war’s desolation. “What are they going to do with you?”



“They’ve promised that I can transfer back into Blue Squadron, but right now I’m one of the more experienced pilots they have,” Connie said. “Chances are that they’ll stick me in one of the new squadrons, the ones formed completely from maggots.” She shook her head. “We would never have built a squadron like that before the war; there should always be a large proportion of veterans mixed up with the newcomers. That’s how maggots learn to survive before they actually go into combat.”



Hind frowned, puzzled. “But if they put you there...and you’re a veteran...”



Connie laughed. “Have you ever tried dropping a tiny drop of black ink in a glass of milk?”



“No,” Hind said.



Her puzzlement must have shown on her face, for Connie explained. “If the unit has a high percentage of veterans to maggots – to newcomers, the maggots will pick up the lessons the old ones had to teach fairly quickly,” she said. “But if the ratio is reversed, the maggots are much less likely to pick up what they need to know. They graduate from the various training centres thinking that they’re Bucks – ah, that they’re the greatest pilots in the galaxy – and then they die before they have a chance to realise their mistake. It’s even worse when they actually trained together, because they have a pre-formed clique before they meet their new commanding officer. Chances are that I will have to deal with something like that.”



Hind nodded. It made sense, sort of. “What do you think our chances are of defeating the Trolls?”



Connie laughed, rather sardonically. “I think you should direct that question to the Admiral,” she said. “No one would be interested in the opinion of a starfighter pilot from the back of beyond...”



“But you have faced the Trolls,” Hind said. “You must have some opinion.”



“I think that we need to develop technology that allows us to stand up to them on even terms,” Connie said. She shook her head. “You know just how many starfighters have been lost in each engagement. Every time we lose a veteran and replace her with a maggot, we lose efficiency. Sooner or later, our squadrons will be completely composed of maggots and they won’t even survive their first battles.”



She looked up at Hind, right into her eyes. “I think that we’re going to be worn down until we can't fight any longer,” she added. “This is the first time we’ve had to face a demonstrably superior enemy. And each battle costs us much more than it costs them.”



“But they retreated,” Hind pointed out. “We forced them to leave...”



“Ah, but we don’t know just how many ships they have,” Connie pointed out. “For all we know, they're going to come back tomorrow with a much larger fleet. Even if they don't have any more ships than we’ve seen, we have no idea where they come from, so launching a counterattack is out of the question. Maybe those overpaid bozos in Survey Command will find an alien world we can target, or maybe they’ll be detected and destroyed before they can escape.”



She took a sip of her drink and snorted again. “We were taught that there’s no point in pushing a battle if you know that cannot complete your objectives,” she added. “If the Trolls had kept pushing, we would have wiped out their fleet and still held Capricorn. Their commander clearly had authority to break off the engagement if it looked like they were losing – and he did. But that means that those Troll ships will survive to fight another day.



“I suggest that you try to tell them back home that this is serious,” she concluded. “And then shut the hell up and join me in a drink. I have too many friends to mourn.”



Hind nodded and took a sip of her own drink. Connie was right, in a sense, although she doubted that the censors would allow her to send a completely unedited transcription of their conversation – recorded by the terminal on her belt – back home to her editors. But if Connie was right, the UN might have won the battle, but still be losing the war. And that meant...



She shook her head. It had been years since she’d left her family on Morocco and gone to Earth to train as a reporter, but she still kept in touch with them. Morocco was one of the older inner worlds, settled as part of the ethnic streaming program the UN had started in the hopes that it would end sectarian conflict among humanity, yet it was also in the path of the Troll invasion if they pressed towards Earth. It had a population of nearly a billion souls; evacuating so many people would be impossible. Perhaps she should warn her family to leave...



But where could they go?

***​

Admiral Davidson stood up as Admiral Donna Cicero stepped into his office. Protocol had dictated that he should have met her sooner, and put on a proper reception in the command base’s shuttlebay, but they’d both quietly agreed that protocol could be put aside until they were sure that the combined fleets were ready to fight off a new attack. Assuming they could, of course...Davidson had good reason to suspect that the Trolls would attack again as soon as possible, hoping to catch and destroy the combined fleets before they could be deployed against their conquests.



“Welcome to Capricorn,” he said, extending his hand. She shook it firmly. “We’re all very glad to see you and your ships.”



“I’m glad to see that you were still in possession of the system when we arrived,” Donna said. She was a tall woman, with short black hair and a reputation for bloody-mindedness, but those were exactly the qualities the human race needed to fight the Trolls. “The last report suggested that you were on the verge of being overrun. I had to risk burning out our flux drives to reach the system in time.”



“And we are grateful for it,” Davidson said. He waved her to a seat and picked up a bottle he’d been saving for a special occasion. “Scotch?”



“Yes, thank you,” Donna said. She glanced at the bottle as he filled two glasses. “Straight from Nova Scotia?”



“My granddaughter sent me a crate of bottles of their finest Scotch,” Davidson said, passing her a glass. “I'm not much of a drinker myself, but this is an important occasion.” He lifted his glass. “To humanity!”



“To humanity,” Donna echoed. She drank, deeply. “So tell me – what exactly am I being bribed to do?”



Davidson chuckled. “You may be interested to know that the Security Council has authorised the dispatch of a peace mission to Cadiz, where the Trolls appear to have established themselves permanently,” he said. “They’re going to fly in on an unmanned civilian starship and introduce themselves to the Trolls using the frequencies we know the Trolls use for themselves.”



“I wonder what poor sucker drew that assignment,” Donna said. “I take it that they’re not going to allow 5th Fleet to provide an escort?”



“They seem to believe that the Trolls will find it threatening,” Davidson said. He tapped a control and a star chart appeared in front of them. “Right now, after we managed to repair our most damaged starships and lay new minefields, Capricorn is as strongly held as possible – at least without drawing new pilots and starfighters from your carriers. I want you to take 5th Fleet here” – he tapped a location between Capricorn and Cadiz – “and prepare for a reconnaissance in force against Cadiz. And by reconnaissance in force I mean I want you to clear the orbitals and bombard their ground-based installations from orbit, if possible.”



Donna nodded. “And if it isn't possible?”



“I have been given strict orders to preserve as much of my battle line as possible,” Davidson admitted. “In the event of the Trolls confronting you with superior firepower, so that you cannot inflict sufficient damage on the planet, you are to withdraw and return to Capricorn.”



He shrugged. “It is unlikely that the peace mission will succeed,” he added, “but in any case you won’t attack until after the diplomats have had their chance. The cloaked escort covering the passenger liner will jump out to you with the latest reports from Cadiz, allowing you to bring your forces into the system at the best possible position. Unless, of course, you believe that the attack is doomed to failure, in which case you are ordered to withdraw.”



“Our first chance to strike back at the enemy,” Donna said. “At least it will have them reacting to us for a chance.”



“Precisely my thoughts,” Davidson said. “For what it’s worth, I can give you complete freedom in planning the operation – I’d love to take 9th Fleet on the offensive, but we have to remain here...”



“Where the aliens know that you are pinned down,” Donna said. “They know you can't go anywhere else.”



Davidson nodded. “They raided New Texas yesterday, according to the report,” he said. “The noose is tightening; the New Texans put up a fight, but they took a beating and the system is effectively naked. We assume that they will come back to this system as soon as they feel able to kick us out and destroy the command base. In that case...”



Donna nodded. Without Capricorn, nearly seventy worlds would be exposed to the Trolls as they pressed in towards Earth. 3rd Fleet was constructing an inner defence line along the border between the outer worlds and the inner worlds, but no one had any illusions about their ability to stop the Trolls without taking massive losses in the fighting. 3rd Fleet would have to remain concentrated to inflict any damage at all and that risked leaving a number of worlds unprotected, save by their own self-defence forces. And they weren't up to the task of standing off the Trolls.



“I understand,” she said. She studied the map thoughtfully. “I notice that that position will put us within one jump of Capricorn as well.”



“Just in case they jump here to engage us,” Davidson said. “They’re capable of more precise jumping than us; it’s quite possible that they can jump further too. There was a theory that the Traders could jump much further than five light years in a single hop and for all we know, the Trolls can do it too.”



“The diplomats might have asked the Traders if they knew anything about the Trolls,” Donna said, thoughtfully. “Or tried to buy more technology off them.”



Davidson shrugged. The Traders never sold weapons technology to anyone, even when the race desperately needed it. They might trade something the human race could use to even the odds, but it was unlikely. And the price might be terrifyingly high.



“The diplomats will handle that,” he said. “They may also manage to convince our...allies to join the fight, even though they’re reluctant to engage the Trolls. But for the moment, we’re on our own.”



“Understood,” Donna said. She studied the chart for a long second, mentally calculating possible engagements between her fleet and the Trolls. “I assume that you’ll send a picket to alert us if you come under attack?”



“Of course,” Davidson said. They shared a long glance. “We need a victory desperately, Admiral. A clear-cut victory that we can use to boost public morale. Because otherwise I’m not sure that we can win this war. What happens when the refugee panic reaches the inner worlds?”



Donna nodded. “We won’t let you down, Admiral,” she said. She pulled her terminal off her belt and opened it up. “Now, if you don't mind, I have an operation to plan.”



Davidson laughed. “Good luck,” he said, and meant it. “Draw anything you need from the storage dumps here. If it produces a victory, it’s worth it.”

 

Chapter Nineteen



Capricorn Base

28th April 2435



“Maggots,” Connie said, in disgust.



They’d promised her a squadron – actually, they’d promised her a return to Blue Squadron. But with the losses the original Blue Squadron had taken, its pilots and their starfighters had been folded into another squadron and a whole new Blue Squadron had been formed from maggot pilots who had been forwarded to Capricorn from a dozen planets in the threatened sector. She’d been right; there were twelve pilots in any squadron and only one of them – her – would have any real combat experience.



She’d glanced through the files and noted that few of the pilots had anything like the recommended time in cockpit that they should have before they graduated from the training centre. The truncated course they'd been given wouldn't have been anything like enough to make up for their weaknesses. In fact, two of them had been on the verge of failing the course before the standards had been dropped enough to allow them to get through the barrier and into a cockpit. At least they wouldn't be as bad as the ones who thought they knew something because they had flown a shuttle or a civilian freighter. They had the most to unlearn before they could be trusted in a cockpit.



Shaking her head, she walked through the door and into the compartment. “Attention on deck,” she barked, as she marched to the front of the compartment and took her place behind the podium. The pilots sprang to their feet and snapped to attention. At least they knew that much, thankfully. “My name is Flight Captain Chung and, for my sins, I have been appointed the CO of Blue Squadron. What that means, as far as you are concerned, is that I am God.”



She looked from face to face and sighed, inwardly. They all had the false confidence that came from graduating out of the training centre – and being in a group with their fellow trainees. She’d have to break them up to convince them that she knew what she was talking about – and that wouldn't be easy. They’d probably wind up hating her.



“Stand at ease,” she ordered, after a moment. They relaxed, slightly. Good; they weren't completely spoiled by the training centre’s reduced standards. “You’ve spent the last six months learning to fly Dragons. You’ve flown hundreds of hours in simulations, but only a few hours in actual starfighters. I’m afraid that simulators don’t prepare you for everything, including fighting the goddamned Trolls. From now until we go into battle, I am going to own your every waking moment.”



She allowed herself a smile. “I’m sure that most of you heard that starfighter jocks get all the sex, booze and rock and roll they want,” she added. Some of them noticeably perked up when she mentioned sex. “Well, I’m afraid that that has to be paid for – and right now you are going to pay for it by training so extensively that you will be too tired for anything by the end of each day, until you’re up to what I consider to be acceptable combat status. If any of you have a problem with training, let me know and I’ll see to it that you get transferred to a combat support position, where training is slightly less important.



“Understand something; you are standing in the shoes of one of the crack fighter squadrons in the Navy – and they lost seven pilots to the Trolls. Other squadrons have been completely wiped out by the Trolls, or shattered so badly that they had to be withdrawn from service and their survivors assigned to other squadrons. And they had far more training and actual experience than you. Right now, the odds say that you will be exterminated when you go up against the Trolls. We're going to spend the next few weeks getting you up to the standard required to actually survive a close encounter with the bastards.”



She gave them another thin smile and nodded to herself. “Yes, I am going to be one hell of a bitch to you – get over it. I want you to survive your first actual combat mission and I am going to give you the best chance I can be riding your asses so hard that you’ll live, breathe and dream combat in space. If that’s going to be a problem, let me know and you can wash out along with the others who thought they could make it as starfighter pilots. Are there any questions?”



There were none. “Good,” she said. “Blue Squadron has been assigned compartment 123-262 as quarters; yes, you’re going to be sleeping in one compartment. What do you think this is? A training centre? Get down there, get your shit stowed away, and report to the flight deck at 1400 precisely. We’re going to get out there and train for the rest of the day.”



One of the new pilots raised her hand, tentatively. “But that's only ten minutes away,” she protested. The fleet carrier was colossal, but if they’d taken the chance to familiarise themselves with her deck plans they would have noticed that compartment 123-262 wasn't more than twenty metres from the briefing compartment. “We won’t have time...”



“Then you’d better run, hadn't you?” Connie sneered. She glanced at her wristcom and noted the time. “You now have nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds. And anyone who happens to be late will be doing press-ups while the rest of us rest at the end of the day.”



She smiled as the maggots ran out of the compartment and started to hunt for their quarters, remembering the day her first CO had given her similar orders. It had taken her five minutes to realise just how close they were to the sleeping compartment and another two to stuff her entire bag into her locker, stowing it away. How many of the newcomers would do the same? Shaking her head, Connie sauntered down to the flight deck and looked at twelve new Dragon starfighters. Chances were that some of the maggots would manage to damage them on their first flight outside the carrier. Keeping one eye on her wristcom, she checked each of the fighters quickly, downloading the flight deck’s reports into her terminal. They had all been cleared for launch, but she’d specifically asked them to leave the pre-flight checks undone. The maggots needed to learn that they had to do them for themselves.



The maggots ran into the flight deck as the final seconds were ticking away, two of them looking on the verge of panic. Press-ups were bad, but being blown into vapour by a Troll starship would be even worse. Connie turned around and watched as they attempted to line up in front of her, clearly not having noticed the lines on the deck that could be used to form a straight line of men. And they'd stepped beyond the lines too...she rolled her eyes. The training centre’s standards had definitely slipped.



“I intend to offer a one-mistake amnesty,” she said, just as her first CO had said. “What that means is that I will point out the mistake the first time it’s made in a calm and reasoned manner and chew you out with extreme volume the second time the mistake is made. If one of your comrades makes a mistake, learn from it or discover just what happens to maggots who don’t learn from someone else’s misfortune.”



She smiled. “For a start, take a look at the lines on the deck,” she added. “You do not walk beyond them without checking with the deckhands, unless you’re boarding your own starfighter. Even then, you take extreme care on the flight deck. Pilots have been injured or killed because they fucked up and weren't watching where they were going.” She paused. “Why are you still standing outside the lines?”



The maggots jumped forward, back into the safe zone. “Good,” she said, smoothly. “Now...go board your starfighters.”



Back when she'd been a cadet, they’d been taught how to check the starfighter’s weapons and sensor nodes before actually scrambling up the ladder and boarding the starfighters. Seven of the maggots thought to do that before boarding their craft, the remainder just started to scramble up the ladder and into the cockpit. Connie let them buckle themselves in before she pointed out the mistake and forced them to climb back out of the cockpit to do it properly.



“You’ll notice that we have given you dummy weapons for the training fight,” she said, as the pilots returned to their cockpits. “That’s because we don’t trust you to handle live weapons yet. I suggest that you remember that these are playing live weapons – you accidentally light up one of your wingmen, you would kill them if you had normal weapons.”



She climbed into her own cockpit and pulled the cover down over her head. “Secure for launch,” she ordered. “Now.”



The pilots did seem to know how to do that properly, probably because any pilot who failed to secure his craft properly would be unable to launch from the fleet carrier. Still, they were slower about it than any experienced pilot would have been, taking several minutes to prepare their fighters properly and then slide forwards into the launch tubes. They should have experienced high-speed launches from the carrier back in the training centre, but two of them sounded nervous. The process had unnerved Connie too before she’d learned that there were more dangers when out in interplanetary space.



“Blue Squadron, cleared for launch,” the CAG said. “Good luck.”



Connie keyed the switch and the starfighter blasted forward, right out into interplanetary space. Behind her, the maggots joined her, some of them clearly uncertain of how to handle the launch properly. Their starfighters were wobbling, like boats on the water, except that it wouldn't really matter if the starfighter turned upside down. There was no such thing in space, apart from when they returned to the carrier.



“Looking a bit unstable there, Blue Eight,” she said, picking on the worst offender. “Keep your hands steady on the controls as you follow me towards the training area.”



She smiled as she heard some of the comments from the pilots on Combat Space Patrol. The maggots were clearly maggots and they would have to learn fast before they were accepted into the carrier’s starfighter community. Connie heard some of the responses and rolled her eyes; the maggots hadn't earned the right to reply in kind, not yet.



“Once we’re in the training area,” she said, “you do not fly out of it without my permission.”



The maggots acknowledged, slowly gaining control over their starfighters as they followed her out into the training area. There was a single freighter in the exact centre of the area, modified to look roughly like a Troll Alpha-class cruiser. Combined with the simulations that would overlay their HUDs, it would look realistic and probably frighten the hell out of the maggots. Some of them might even join the wet pants club on their first flight.



“Form up on me,” she ordered, and watched dispassionately as they struggled into a formation. The training centres didn't teach proper formation flying, mainly because a predicable formation was an easy target for alien gunners. “I’m activating the simulation now.”



She flicked a switch and the word SIMULATION appeared on her HUD, just as the freighter morphed into a Troll cruiser. “All right, maggots, this is what we’re going to do,” she said. “The Troll ship ahead of us is about to break into firing range to take down our carrier. Our Dragons don’t carry flux drives so if we lose the carrier, we’re trapped in this system and we won’t be able to get our asses out before the Trolls kill us or we run out of life support. So...we have to kill this bastard before it kills us.”



Her lips folded into a smile. The maggots didn't know it, but the exercise was rigged to teach them the lessons they needed to learn. “On my mark, drop into chaotic formation and prepare to follow me in,” she added. “Now!”



Grabbing her stick, she yanked the starfighter out of the predicable formation and gunned the engine, flashing right into the Troll’s engagement range. The HUD showed flashes of light from the Troll ship as it opened fire, trying to predict her next position in time to intercept her and blow her out of space. Behind her, the maggots were trying to pull off a chaotic formation, but they weren't quite succeeding. Three of them were picked off by the Trolls before they started to scatter, forcing the Trolls to split their fire.



“Get in close,” she snapped. The Trolls knew about the blind spot now; they were hurling everything they had at her to stop her slipping into the starship’s sole vulnerable place. “No, don’t fly around at the edge of their range; get in close and engage the fucker!”



Two more maggots died as they made the mistake of flying in a straight line long enough for the Trolls to predict their course and pick them off, followed by three more as they tried to catch up with her. The remainder got into the blind spot, only to see the Troll ship rotate on its axis with terrifying speed, effectively forcing them out of the blind spot. They hadn't expected anything that size to move so quickly, let alone spin fast enough to overload a human compensator...before they could react, the Trolls opened fire and the remaining maggots – and Connie herself – were wiped from existence. A red sign – YOU’RE DEAD – appeared in front of her on the HUD. Angrily, she pushed the reset key and the Troll ship morphed back into a freighter.



“So tell me,” she said. “How many of you realise just what went wrong then?”



There was a pause. “Let me tell you,” she said. “You scattered, gave the Trolls a chance to react to you – and you didn't even try to follow the blind spot when the Troll ship rotated. The first time you fail at doing that in a real battle, you will wind up dead. Do you understand me?”



“Yes, Captain,” several maggots said at once. Good; at least they were thinking.



“I’m glad to hear it,” Connie said. “And now we have reset the simulation...it’s time to try again.”

***​

Three hours later, she led the maggots back to the carrier and watched carefully as they came in to land on the flight deck. Landing operations were practiced endlessly at the training centre – a single mistake could cause a catastrophe if the pilots were very unlucky – and the maggots, tired through they were, managed it safely. Finally, Connie landed behind them and passed the starfighter over to the ground crew, who would pass it forward into the flight deck.



“I’d love to make you study what you did wrong in detail, but you probably need to eat,” she announced, as the maggots lined up in front of her. “We’ll go pick up some food at the mess and then we'll discuss your failures in great detail.”



It was a more subdued group of maggots who ate with the other pilots, but largely excluded from their groups. Connie understood; it was never easy to accept a new person into an established squadron, particularly when the newcomer had never seen the elephant personally. They’d find it easier once they fought their first combat mission, when – if – the Trolls returned to Capricorn. The departure of 5th Fleet might just be intended to convince them that they would have a window of opportunity to attack for a second time. But they’d been trapped once that way already so they might not be fooled a second time.



“Heard you’d tapped Green Squadron to teach the maggots how to dogfight,” Flight Captain Cawdor said. He grinned mischievously at her. “When do you want us on duty?”



“Tomorrow, probably,” Connie said. The maggots looked completely worn out – and there was no point in pushing them much harder. But good fighting technique would teach them how to carry out a proper chaotic formation when the shit hit the fan. And no one expected the Trolls to remain absent for much longer. “Just make sure that they actually learn the right lessons.”



Cawdor nodded. They could all sense just how badly the squadrons had been degraded since the first encounter with the Trolls. The aliens had badly weakened them, simply by slaughtering vast numbers of pilots. Like it or not, their fighting trim had been crippled and their morale was low. Even beating the Trolls off from Capricorn, a minor miracle in its own right, had failed to convince them that they could win. Connie could sense the despair hanging over the compartment like a shroud.



“Don’t worry,” he said. “I assure you that they’ll learn everything they need to know.”



Connie watched him go, rolling her eyes. The maggots needed to learn quickly, or they’d wind up dead when they ran into the Trolls. But having their heads handed to them by a more experienced squadron might not teach them anything. They should have learned those lessons at the training centre and they’d evidently been avoided.



“Report to the briefing compartment at 1900,” she ordered, as she finished her meal and stood up. She wasn't on the flight list, so she might as well take a quick break and write a letter to her family. And besides, she should update her will as well. “Once we’re there, we’re going to go over everything we did before catching some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be another busy day.”



The maggots groaned. No doubt they’d thought they’d left regulated schedules behind along with the training centre. Connie left them to finish their meal and walked off, leaving them to enjoy whatever remained of their innocence. They’d run into the Trolls soon enough.

 

Thanks again. You've got a great dynamic going between the old hands and the new.

 

Chapter Twenty



Cadiz System

1st May 2435



Captain Tom Smith had decided that he didn’t like diplomats. Interstellar Queen was no stranger to pompous asses with too much money and political clout for their own good – she was the finest and certainly the most expensive passenger liner in five sectors – but he’d never actually flown her into a war zone before. Normally, she was kept well away from any danger – and escorted by a pair of destroyers to ensure that she wasn't hijacked or attacked by pirate ships. But now he was taking her right into the middle of a combat zone.



No one familiar with human starships would have mistaken Interstellar Queen for a warship. At nearly two kilometres long, she had been designed to have plenty of portholes looking out into space, as well as corridors wrapped around her main hull that allowed her passengers to stare out at gas giants and other spectacular views as she made her way from sector to sector. Tom was uncomfortably aware that a single missile hit in the wrong place would cripple his ship, leaving her hopelessly exposed to alien attack. If it had been up to him – and the insurers – the whole idea of using the ship for the peace envoy would have been dismissed out of hand. But someone on Earth had brought pressure to bear on her owners and he’d discovered that all he could do was offload the passengers and non-essential crew on Capricorn and take the diplomats onboard. And they’d spent the three days jumping to Cadiz complaining that the accommodations didn't live up to the advertisements.



“We’re ready for the final jump,” he said. With half of the crew left behind, the trip had been slower and more careful than normal. “Once we’re in Cadiz, we'll start broadcasting your first message.”



The diplomats – led by Ambassador Rutherford, who had been the UN’s High Commissioner for the sector – had argued with each other over just how they should approach the Trolls. How best to seem non-threatening, they’d asked? Eventually, they’d tried to suggest a jump into near-Cadiz space, only to have Tom veto it. They’d complain, no doubt, to their superiors and Tom’s superiors would feel obliged to reprimand him, but interstellar law admitted of no ambiguity on the issue of a Captain’s authority while the ship was underway. Besides, if the mission succeeded, they’d be heroes – and if it failed, they might be grateful for the distance between them and Cadiz. They should have enough time to recharge the flux drive for an emergency jump if the Trolls decided to be unwelcoming.



Ambassador Rutherford was a tall man, slowly trending towards fat. “That’s good to hear,” he said. He’d been on the bridge several times since departure, ignoring increasingly impolite hints that maybe he should go elsewhere. Tom had the distant impression that the Ambassador wasn't as keen on the mission as some of his subordinates, which wasn't too surprising. The Trolls had ignored all previous attempts to contact them and fired on all human ships within range. And after having been given a bloody nose at Capricorn they'd probably be even less inclined to listen to reason. “Why don’t you take us in now?”



Interstellar Queen was no warship, able to jump at a second’s notice. Tom had developed procedures for shortening the time between jumps – they certainly wouldn't be deploying the parasol or anything else that might be sliced away from the hull by the flux field – but it still took time to ensure that everyone had taken their stations. An emergency jump would probably cause their normal run of passengers to reach for their lawyers and start suing the company; the bastards didn't realise that jump sickness was largely unavoidable in groundhogs who had never experienced a jump in their lives.



Tom keyed the intercom. “This is the Captain,” he said. “All hands, assume jump stations; I say again, assume jump stations.”



Normally, the caretakers – the stewardesses – would ensure that all of the passengers were in their cabins, or out of the swimming pool before they jumped. Now, the stewardesses had been left behind on Capricorn and the swimming pool had been closed – and the diplomats should know how to take care of themselves. He keyed the countdown as the reduced engineering staff spun up the flux drive, then brought his hand down on the red button. Space folded around Interstellar Queen and she found herself in the Cadiz System.



“Secure from jump stations,” he ordered. The navigational computers bleeped as they checked their position and then compared it to the coordinates the helmsman had loaded into the processes. They weren’t more than a few hundred kilometres from their planned arrival point, a testimony to the efficiency of the hugely-expensive military-grade flux drive the designers had incorporated into Interstellar Queen’s hull. “Bring all sensors up to full power and start scanning for hostile vessels.”



Interstellar Queen was a target – and, unfortunately, one that couldn't be hidden very easily. Her designers had decided to cram military-grade sensors into her hull instead, allowing her to even pick up on a cloaked ship approaching on an attack vector, or so they claimed. No one knew for sure if the Trolls even had cloaking devices, but he’d been warned that the analysts expected that they would be better than human cloaks. Their ships were so different from standard UN-designed starships that they might not produce the turbulence that a human starship left in its wake.



Rutherford cleared his throat as the main display started to light up. “I think that it’s time to start broadcasting the first transmission,” he said, firmly. Tom had wanted to delay it long enough to ensure that their arrival point was clear of possibly-hostile contacts. “They’ll have detected our arrival, won’t they?”



“I’m very much afraid so,” Tom said. They were well within the range that UN sensors would have detected their arrival. Normally, a cruiser or a pair of destroyers would be sent out to investigate the new arrival, just in case it was a ship in trouble. The Trolls might assume that they were a spy ship and send one of their dark ships to obliterate the intruders. He looked over at the communications console and nodded to the operator. “Start sending the transmission.”



It was another reality of interstellar operations that radio waves, effectively instantaneous on a planetary scale, were painfully slow between planets, let alone stars. At five light minutes between Interstellar Queen and Cadiz, it would take five minutes for the Trolls to pick up the message and another five minutes for them to respond, assuming that they replied at once. A StarCom was much faster, but Interstellar Queen was too small to carry one – and even if they had, no one knew what frequencies the Trolls used for their FTL communications systems. All Tom could do was wait and hope that the Trolls were feeling friendly.



“I’m picking up some radio transmissions from the asteroid belt,” the communications officer said. She was a young dark girl from Liberia, someone who would have been left behind on Capricorn if she hadn't volunteered for the mission. “I think they’re RockRat transmissions, Captain.”



“Monitor them, but do not reply,” Tom ordered. The RockRats had had a major colony within the Cadiz System; the briefing they'd received from the military had warned that the RockRats might have been exterminated by the Trolls. But a solar system was a vast place and the RockRats were masters at hiding their colonies from even an intensive search; it was quite possible that they were still alive, monitoring the enemy’s operations in the system.



Rutherford had made it clear, more than once, that they had to preserve the appearance of neutrality as much as possible. Personally, Tom thought that that was insane; the diplomats were paid to represent the human race to the rest of the galaxy, not act as cheerleaders for the other side. But Rutherford had insisted, pointing out that they couldn't risk looking like a spy ship or the Trolls were likely to open fire without bothering to listen to the prattle from the diplomats. And he had been given authority to issue orders as long as they didn't interfere with the safety of the ship.



Tom keyed the console and linked to the engineering department. “Keep the flux drive at readiness,” he ordered. At least the military drive could survive more wear and tear than the average civilian drive. “I want to be able to jump out the moment they show any signs of hostility.”



The Ambassador looked over at him. “You do realise that this is a peace mission?”



“I know that,” Tom said, as patiently as he could. He wanted to throw Rutherford’s insane ideas back in his face, if only to ensure that no other ships and crews would fly into danger just because the diplomats had no real conception of actual interstellar realities. “And you know that, and your subordinates know that. But the Trolls may mistake us for a hostile starship and if they open fire, we will need to jump out at once.”



“This ship doesn't look anything like a warship,” Rutherford said. “They won’t mistake us for an attacking force...”



“Neither do their ships,” Tom pointed out, dryly. The visuals he’d seen of Troll starships would have been impressive if they hadn't been so damn terrifying. They’d actually managed to build starships to an aesthetic ideal, rather than ships circumscribed to the limits of the possible. The settlers on Roddenberry would be delighted when the human race managed to develop their own improved drive systems; they’d been planning to build their idol’s starships for longer than the human race had been in space. “They may mistake us for an unusually deadly warship.”



Silently, he cursed another diplomatic decision under his breath. There had been a suggestion that one of the aliens in human space should accompany the mission, on the theory that the Trolls would hesitate before risking widening the war by firing on an alien ship. Tom had thought that it was an excellent idea, but the diplomats had refused, pointing out that Earth didn't need another diplomatic incident when the UNNS was fully embroiled with the Trolls. He’d actually had the impression that the diplomats were more concerned with their reputations than anything else; they’d been quick to block the motion before they came up with anything to justify it.



He glanced at his console. Twelve minutes had gone by since they’d started transmitting towards Cadiz. At their range, it was impossible to know if there were any alien starships near the planet, or if they had pulled out and abandoned the world after wrecking everything of value in the system. The message was still pulsing out...they knew that the Trolls had radio, but it was quite possible that they weren't monitoring the human frequencies. But standard operating procedure for human warships was to monitor every frequency and he couldn't imagine a race that didn't take the same precaution. After all, an attack force sneaking towards the planet might accidentally betray itself with a radio transmission...



“No response at all, Captain,” the communications officer reported. “I’ve run through every hailing frequency in explored space as well as the bands we know they use and there has been no response.”



“Continue transmitting,” Rutherford said, before Tom could say a word. How dare he issue orders on the bridge of Tom’s starship? But he was a well-connected man who could probably have Tom dismissed from his post with a word in the right set of ears. “They have to be listening.”



Tom nodded and studied the sensor display, watching as the information constantly updated. There was nothing that suggested a technological presence in the system, apart from the RockRat transmissions; they hadn't even picked up any ship-to-ship chatter from the Troll starships they assumed were orbiting the planet. But all that meant was that they observed good signal discipline. Their hulls probably made it easier for them to use lasers for communications rather than radio. Or perhaps they had something that the human race didn't even dream existed.



He started as the sensor console started to bleep an alarm. “One contact, right on top of us,” the sensor officer snapped. He had been borrowed from the military as he had more experience with tracking Troll starships than anyone else. “They just jumped in, ten kilometres from our position. I read one Alpha-class Troll cruiser.”



Well within firing range, Tom thought, grimly. A single burst of death ray fire from the Troll ship could rip his ship apart before they even knew that they were under attack. He had to hope that the diplomats were right and the Trolls were prepared to talk peace after being given a bloody nose, or they were all dead.



Rutherford smiled. “Call the rest of my team to the bridge,” he said. “And start transmitting the second peace signal now.”



Tom swallowed his irritation as the rest of the diplomatic team came onto the bridge. They might have been diplomats, but their diplomatic skills hadn't been in evidence over the last three days, when they’d made impossible demands on his staff. Interstellar Queen’s crew were highly paid because they had to put up with lewd remarks, groping and even providing erotic services to the passengers, yet some of the diplomats had been worse than some of their passengers from hell. And the passengers at least left tips behind when they were done.



“They came,” one of the diplomats said. He sounded as if peace was only a few words away, or if they’d already completed the peace mission and were heading home to receive the plaudits of a grateful United Nations. “I knew they would come.”



Tom ignored them as best as he could, watching the main display as the second message pulsed out towards the aliens. They were well within range for face-to-face conversations, but it had been assumed that the Trolls would need time to decipher the message before the two sides could start talking properly. Tom suspected that they probably understood UN Standard better than many of its speakers – they had to have captured an interstellar database from somewhere, or they wouldn't have known where to attack – yet the diplomats might have had a point. A slow exchange of messages might be less conductive to hostility than a face-to-face conversation.



“Picking up a response,” the communications officer said, excitedly. “It's in standard!”



“Put it through,” Tom ordered, before Rutherford could say a word.



The voice was harsh, yet almost completely atonal; Tom suspected that it had probably been produced by a computer. “We demand the immediate surrender of the United Nations,” it said. There was a long pause before the aliens spoke again. “No other terms will be considered.”



Tom almost smiled as the diplomats staggered backwards, stunned. They lived in a universe where there was always room for talk, if only because jaw-jaw was better than war-war. But the Trolls weren't even bothering to treat with them as equals; they’d issued their demands and were now waiting for a response. And now the diplomats would have to chose between trying to open a dialogue anyway or jumping back to Capricorn to report failure.



Rutherford looked over at him, and then licked his lips nervously. “Open a channel,” he ordered. The communications officer looked at Tom, who nodded. “This is High Commissioner Rutherford, representing the United Nations.”



He stopped, clearly uncertain what to say next. “We wish to discuss terms for ending this war without further violence,” he continued. Tom suspected that that wasn't going to go down well with the Trolls. They’d stated their terms – unconditional surrender – and Rutherford was completely ignoring them. “There has to be room for both of our races in the galaxy. If the human race has somehow given offense...”



The harsh voice interrupted him. “We demand the unconditional surrender of the United Nations,” it said, flatly. “No other terms will be considered.”



Tom glanced over at the sensor officer as he spoke into the silence. “I’m picking up energy discharges flickering over the Alpha,” he said. “I think they’re preparing to open fire!”



“We have to keep trying to talk to them,” Rutherford insisted. “Captain...”



“Prepare for emergency jump,” Tom snapped. A warship would have jumped out instantly, but even with the flux drive powered up Interstellar Queen took longer – perhaps too long – to get ready. “Ambassador, they’re not interested in talking.”



“Everyone wants something,” one of the other diplomats said. “We have to keep pressing them to discover what they want and why they’re attacking us.”



Tom fought down the urge to slap the silly girl senseless. “Get off my bridge,” he ordered, instead. The timer had started to count down the seconds until they could jump out. “They don’t want to talk to us...”



“Energy spike,” the sensor officer snapped. “They’re firing...”



Interstellar Queen shook violently as a death ray cut into her rear section. Alarms rang through the ship as the Troll beam sliced through the weakened hull metal and blew through the engineering compartment, destroying the flux drive and the fusion reactors that provided the ship’s power. Emergency power cells came on, too late to prevent the artificial gravity from failing...



“Major damage, all sections,” one of his officers called. “We’ve lost drives; I say again, we’ve lost drives!”



“Get us out of here,” Rutherford screamed. He was panicking. “Jump us out now!”



Tom stared at him, feeling oddly calm as his ship started to come apart around him. “The drives are gone,” he said, no longer caring about what sort of report the diplomats would make when they returned home. They weren't going to return home. “We’re trapped in this system.”



“Then tell them that we surrender,” Rutherford insisted. “Tell them!”



“Energy spike,” the sensor officer said. “They’re preparing to fire again...”



“I don’t think they’re interested,” Tom said. “Goodbye, Ambassador.”



The Troll ship fired a second burst directly into Interstellar Queen’s forward sections. There were no survivors.

 

Chapter Twenty-One



Cadiz System

1st May 2435



“Those lousy murdering bastards...”



“That will do,” Captain Helen Lei said, tightly. Not that she disagreed, but they didn't have time to let their emotions run away with them. On the main display, the remains of Interstellar Queen died as the Troll ship started to head back towards Cadiz. They didn't seem to realise that the passenger liner hadn't been alone. “Helm, prepare to jump us back towards the RV point.”



“Aye, Captain,” the helmsman said. “Powering up the flux drive now.”



Helen’s orders had been explicit; she was to shadow Interstellar Queen at a safe distance, but do nothing to interfere, whatever happened. Pocahontas was a light cruiser, without the modified missiles or starfighters that were needed to take on the Trolls, and there was nothing that she could have done to save the passenger liner, yet it still gnawed at her that civilians had died. She had a serving officer’s contempt for diplomats, who seemed to give away prizes won with blood and suffering, but even they didn't deserve to die like that. The Trolls had simply blown them away when they refused to leave quickly enough to suit them.



The mission hadn't been a total failure. Previous fly-through missions to Cadiz had seeded the system with stealthed reconnaissance platforms and Pocahontas had been able to access their storage nodes and download their observations. The analysts had already deduced that the alien fleet that had retreated from Capricorn had not returned to Cadiz, which suggested that they had another rendezvous point somewhere outside the system. That was common sense, Helen knew; it was surprisingly reassuring that Troll tactical thinking didn't seem to be too different from human doctrine. It was almost impossible to locate an RV point outside a given system, unless one got very lucky. The Trolls would have time to lick their wounds in peace.



After nuking the planet’s settlements – and deploying a small army of what everyone believed to be genetically-engineered warriors – the Trolls had left only five warships in orbit around the planet, all Alphas. Helen was at a loss to explain their deployment, unless the Trolls had decided that they needed to keep all of the Betas with their main striking fleet. That would make a certain kind of sense, she decided; they knew that their cruisers had blind spots, blind spots which their lighter craft lacked. Keeping the Betas with the fleet was the simplest way to provide antifighter cover.



“Drive powered up,” the helmswoman said. “Captain?”



“Jump us out of here,” Helen ordered. A jump over five light years would push her ship to the limits, but there was little choice. At least the Trolls were probably unaware of the presence of 5th Fleet, ready to jump into Cadiz and extract revenge for the dead diplomats. “Now.”



Her stomach clenched as Pocahontas jumped out of the Cadiz system.

***​

The space between stars was unaccountably vast, leaving Hind feeling tiny and utterly isolated light years from any living world. It was strange to realise that the tiny lights that blazed out against interstellar space were actually massive stars, themselves tiny against the sheer vastness of the universe. There were cults that worshipped the interstellar darkness, she recalled, and others that cursed it as a sign of the devil’s work. The cults were absurd, at least in her opinion, but it was easy to see why they gained adherents. Out here, so far from any inhabited world that it would take years to reach the closest in normal space, it was easy to feel utterly insignificant.



Admiral Cicero had been looking for embedded reporters and Hind had been one of the first to sign up for the mission, reasoning that there wasn't much she could do on Capricorn unless the Trolls decided to return to try to take the system for a second time. No one had raised any objections, suggesting that her first reports hadn't upset anyone too badly, apart from her editor. He’d ordered her to attach herself to Admiral Davidson and send feature articles, but apart from a brief press conference shortly after the battle Admiral Davidson had been completely isolated from the media, protected by a swarm of armed Marines. Apparently, he didn't want to give interviews. Hind found it hard to blame him.



Her wristcom buzzed. “Miss Valhi, please report to the briefing room,” a voice said.



She was still finding it hard to get around the vast carrier; Powerful was the largest starship in the United Nations, larger even than the vast colonist-carriers that transported entire populations from Earth to their new homeworlds. Several of those ships had arrived at Capricorn over the last week and started hauling refugees from the threatened worlds into the heart of the United Nations. God alone knew what they’d do if the Trolls managed to threaten the inner worlds with half of the shipping in ten sectors tied up moving refugees from the outer worlds.



Hind nodded and started to walk out of the observation blister, relying on her wristcom to provide guidance to the briefing room. It was a short walk, but the unvarying sameness of the military decor never failed to confuse her as she tried to make her way from compartment to compartment. There was a system for assigning numbers to each individual section, she had been assured, but it had proved impossible to grasp. And then her escort had told her that she was lucky not to be assigned to one of the fleet train’s mobile shipyards. Those changed so rapidly that anyone not assigned to them would find it impossible to get around the ship.



The briefing room seemed too small to house 5th Fleet’s Captains and other senior officers, but most of them were attending via hologram, their images blurring together into a single mass of light. When one of them spoke, the automated software propelled their hologram forward, allowing them to be seen clearly. It seemed rather confusing to Hind, but the military officers seemed comfortable with the system. Besides, with a war on, no one actually wanted to leave their starships and shuttle over to Powerful.



“The Pocahontas has just returned from Cadiz,” Admiral Cicero said, flatly. Hind had tried to get onto the peace mission’s starship, only to be told that the diplomats had already picked the reporters who would be accompanying them. The list had included five reporters known more for kissing asses than actually chasing stories. “I have to report that the Interstellar Queen was destroyed by the Trolls, lost with all hands.”



There was little shock from the assembled military officers. They hadn't expected any other outcome, Hind realised; they’d known better than to hope for peace. For herself, she felt relief that she hadn't been on the ship, mixed with a curious regret that the mission had failed so badly.



“Pocahontas monitored the transmissions between Interstellar Queen and a Troll Alpha,” the Admiral continued. “The Trolls demanded the complete and unconditional surrender of the human race. When Ambassador Rutherford attempted to continue talking to the Trolls, they opened fire and destroyed the liner. We have to assume that they knew that the Interstellar Queen was being shadowed, otherwise their demand would not reach the rest of the human race. They certainly know that we have been monitoring the system.”



She looked up, right into the mass of holograms. “We will therefore proceed to Cadiz and liberate the system,” she concluded. “We jump out in five minutes, following attack plan alpha-one. Our priority will be to hammer the Alphas before they can escape from the system. For once, we will have the firepower advantage and I don’t intend to waste it. Good luck to us all.”



The Admiral made a gesture and the holograms vanished from the compartment. “You will be in the CIC during the attack,” she informed Hind. That was a surprise; she’d been lobbying for a position where she could actually see what was going on, but the military had been dragging their feet on the issue. “Just sit at the rear of the compartment and keep your mouth shut. The tactical staff have enough problems without you asking questions at the wrong time.”



She smiled. “And get ready to write the story of your life,” she added. “This time, we hit them, not the other way around.”

***​

The Combat Information Centre was a massive compartment, dominated by a single vast holographic display and a dozen consoles that collectively passed orders to the remainder of 5th Fleet. Hind watched as the Admiral took her station in front of the holographic display, with her tactical officers ready to pass on her orders, just as the countdown ticked down to zero. She braced herself as the flux drive engaged and Powerful jumped nearly five light years. A moment after the jump, they were in the Cadiz system.



“Mountbatten and Kurdistan didn't complete the jump,” the tactical officer said, as the display lit up with the icons representing the fleet. “Their engineering officers warned that they’d pushed their drives too hard in the race to Capricorn.”



“Understood,” the Admiral said, calmly. “Move Dingell and Pinafore forward to cover their positions in formation; launch a picket back to the RV point to tell them to hold position and wait for word from us. Launch all sensor probes and link us into the tactical platforms. I want all of the alien craft pinned down before we advance further into the system.”



Piece by piece, the tactical holographic tank lit up as data started flowing into the system. Her briefings had told Hind that some elements were easy to check, such as the locations of the various planets and asteroids in the system, while other elements were nothing more than question marks until the fleet advanced close enough for real-time data. The Admiral’s plan was brutally simple; the fleet, which had arrived one light minute from Cadiz, would advance on the planet and force the Trolls to either give battle or retreat without a fight. Either way, the Admiral had assured her, the Trolls would be on the receiving end of more firepower than they normally dished out. Given that they weren't too proud to back off when it was clear that they were losing, the Admiral expected that they would take one look at 5th Fleet and retreat at once. Hind found herself hoping that the Admiral was right.



“I have a lock on the Trolls,” one of the other tactical officers said. “Five Alphas; seven Gamma-class freighters. They’re all in orbit around the planet.”



“Launch starfighters,” the Admiral ordered. 5th Fleet had had to take some of the maggots from the closest training centre, according to one of the officers Hind had interviewed, but most of her pilots had had several years worth of experience in actual operations. They had been forced to give up some experienced pilots to bolster 9th Fleet, yet they still had an advantage over the depleted formations of their sister fleet. “CAG; designate groups one and two. Group one is to attack the aliens; group two is to provide combat space patrol for the main body of the fleet.”



“Aye, Admiral,” the CAG said. He was actually the super-CAG, or so he’d claimed during an interview that had turned into a dinner date; he was in command of every starfighter group in the fleet. “Group one is advancing towards the planet now.”



“The Trolls are reacting,” the tactical officer added. “The Alphas appear to be forming a battle line; the Gammas are heading to high orbit. I believe that they intend to jump out as soon as they reach minimum safe distance from the planet.”



“That would be understandable,” the Admiral said, smoothly. “Keep one eye on them, just in case they’ve taken a leaf from our book. They may have rigged those freighters with missiles or some other surprise.”



There was a pause. “And launch a second set of probes towards the planet,” she added. “I don’t want any surprises at all.”



On the display, the Alphas started to drift out of orbit, almost as if they were in two minds about staying or going. The starfighters were racing closer, ready to engage engagement range ahead of the capital ships, but no one had any doubt about their ability to take on and destroy the five Troll starships before the capital ships entered firing range. Tactical doctrine, she’d been told, had been adjusted to compensate for the Trolls and their technological surprises.



“I wonder if those ships are damaged,” the Admiral mused. “Cadiz can’t be so important to them that they’d sacrifice five ships just to delay us.” She looked over at the tactical officer. “Have we seen those ships before?”



“Uncertain, Admiral,” the tactical officer admitted. “We haven’t been able to devise a method of separating out one Troll ship from another. They could be the damaged units from the fleet that attacked Capricorn, but we’re too far from them to tell if they are actually damaged.”



“Maybe their commander is torn between putting up a fight or retreating,” another tactical officer suggested. “We don’t know how they would regard an officer who retreated without even firing a shot at the enemy.”



“Possible,” the Admiral said.



Hind frowned. If the enemy possessed superior firepower, why would it be a bad thing to retreat rather than put up a fight that would inevitably end in disaster? It wasn't as if the Trolls actually needed Cadiz, surely. Retreating would preserve five starships for further battles, ones where they could bring their full might to bear against the next human fleet. But if they were rather like the Sutra, who regarded retreating from battle as a sign of displeasure from the gods, they might feel that they had to fight anyway...



...But that made no sense. The Trolls had retreated from Capricorn when they’d found themselves confronted by a second human fleet. Clearly, the Trolls didn't regard retreat as a bad thing. Was it different once they’d planted a small colony on the surface of a conquered world? The last report from Cadiz had confirmed that the Trolls seemed to be establishing a colony as well as landing an army to hunt down the remainder of human resistance, which was fighting a losing battle in the hills of their homeworld. Maybe they feared what the fleet would do to their colony once they retreated.



“The starfighters are entering engagement range,” the CAG said. On the display, the Trolls opened fire, firing brilliant streaks of light towards the human starfighters. A handful vanished from the display, each missing icon signifying a starfighter pilot blown to vapour by the Trolls. “And the Trolls appear to be falling back.”



“Curious,” the Admiral said. The Trolls had clearly modified their own doctrine, twisting and turning to force the starfighters to give chase – and making it very difficult for them to slip into the enemy’s blind spot. Each Alpha was manoeuvring to allow one of its fellows a clear shot into its blind spot, taking out human pilots who relaxed too soon. “I wonder if they’re trying to force the starfighter pilots to exhaust their fuel and life support.”



“They’d be better off jumping out, Admiral,” the CAG said. “One of the Alphas has already taken a beating and another is under heavy attack.”



The tactical officer looked up from his console. “Admiral, we will be within bombardment range of the planet in seven minutes,” he said. “Do you still wish to proceed with obliterating the alien colony?”



Hind shivered, despite herself. Certain orders, she’d been told, could not be given unless counter-signed by the Grand Admiral himself. One of those orders covered the bombardment of an enemy planet, at least outside any weapons emplacements or spaceport facilities that might keep the planet as a threat to human military occupations. The UNNS prided itself on enforcing the law forbidding random planetary bombardment, even to the point of preventing the Sutra Royalists from exterminating large numbers of their enemy during the Intervention. No one was comfortable with putting that law aside...



...But the Trolls had nuked human civilians. Whatever else happened, they had to be made to understand that the UNNS could not let that pass. Their colonists on Cadiz were about to pay the price for what their fellow Trolls in their military had done, but as no one knew how the Trolls organised their society, no one knew how much authority their – presumed – citizens actually had. The peace lobby on Luna had protested strongly when the motion had been introduced to put General Edict 24 aside, yet in the end their moralistic arguments had proven futile. There were just too many humans who wanted revenge – and to deter the Trolls from launching orbital strikes against a core world.



“Yes,” the Admiral said, tightly. “Warn the resistance that we will be targeting Troll settlements and tell them to keep their heads down. We don't want to kill any humans by accident.”



The seconds ticked away as the fleet approached Cadiz and the starfighters pressed their offensive. One Alpha died, followed rapidly by a second...and then the remainder of the enemy fleet jumped out. Not very far, the tactical officer insisted, but they were too far from the jump point to get a proper vector on the alien ships. The CAG pointed out that they were probably taking on an observation role, now that they’d put up a brief fight for honour’s sake.



“Costly battle for honour,” the Admiral observed, wryly. She was, Hind realised, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Start launching bombardment missiles as soon as we enter firing range...”



“Admiral,” the tactical officer said. “I’m picking up...oh, my god!”



On the display, new red icons were flickering into life. Hind had little experience in reading military displays, but even she could tell that they were close to the fleet. Too close. The other shoe had just dropped...

 

Chapter Twenty-Two



Cadiz System

1st May 2435



“What the hell?”



Flight Lieutenant Sandy Bugle had been assigned to the CSP along with the rest of Yellow Squadron, a grim reminder that their squadron held more than their fair share of maggots after the CAG had reshuffled Liberty’s wings to ensure that the striking starfighter groups had most of the veterans. It was something that bothered him; he’d lost friends and family when the Trolls had hit Cadiz and he wanted a chance to hit back at the bastards. But instead he’d been assigned to the rear left flank...



His sensor systems were picking up...something alarmingly close to the fleet. It didn't read out like turbulence that would suggest the presence of a cloaked fleet, yet he was unable to think of whatever else it might be. He keyed his console, sending an alert to the fleet, and then altered course, following his Flight Captain as they raced towards the source of the mystery field. The maggots followed them, staying in formation, just before space seemed to shimmer and disgorge upwards of fifty Alpha and Beta-class warships. Sandy stared in absolute disbelief...they’d slipped up to the fleet and the CSP was already in firing range...



“My God,” the Flight Captain said. It was already too late. “Evade, evade...”



The Trolls opened fire before the starfighters could slip into an evasive pattern. Seconds later, Yellow Squadron was wiped out as death rays blasted the craft and their pilots from existence.

***​

“Alter course,” the Admiral snapped. “Divert the remainder of the CSP to cover our flanks...”



“Enemy craft entering engagement range,” the tactical officer said. Hind stared at the display, realising that the Trolls were moving much faster than the human ships. They would overtake the fleet before they could power up their flux drives and escape. “They’re opening fire!”



“Goddard is gone,” another tactical officer said. “Genesis and Thunderbird have taken heavy damage; Thunderbird is gone. Mockingbird and Hawkeye are under attack...”



“All ships, massed missile fire,” the Admiral snapped. “Give them something else to think about than tearing into our flanks.”



Hind shook her head as she saw the disaster unfolding. The Trolls didn't seem to be concentrating on the outer flanks, other than firing at targets of opportunity and clearing the way for their mad charge. In fact, they seemed to be charging right into the human formation, aiming right at the carriers in the centre. It made sense, even to her decidedly civilian brain; the Trolls knew that the starfighters needed their carriers to be a deadly threat, so they were concentrating on eliminating the carriers first.



“Hawkeye and Thor have been destroyed,” a tactical officer said. “Stark rammed a Troll ship; both ships have been destroyed.”



“Group one starfighters are reversing course,” the CAG added. “They’re coming back to aid the fleet.”



Hind looked at the display and wondered if the starfighters could make it back in time. In a matter of seconds, 5th Fleet had gone from complete control of the situation to a desperate struggle for survival. A struggle it seemed to be losing. The Trolls were pushing closer, even though they were now forced to divert their attention to sprint mode missiles and starfighters as they fought to push the Trolls back out of the formation. It wouldn't be long before the Trolls reached firing range of the bigger carriers...



“They’re targeting Liberty,” the tactical officer said. Hind looked over at the live feed from one of the cruisers. The massive fleet carrier had been hit several times, losing five of its eight flight decks as Troll fire tore through their hullmetal and guttered their inner workings. Hind couldn’t imagine the hell that had been unleashed inside the starship as she struggled for survival. The crew within those massive tubes had to be dying as fires raged through the ship, detonating the starfighter missile warheads inside their mothership. “Liberty has taken heavy damage...”



The live feed fuzzed out as Liberty exploded in a flash of blinding light. “Liberty has been destroyed,” the tactical officer reported. There was no point in him making that report. “Constitution and Dynamo are under fire” – another fleet carrier and one of the assault carriers – “and taking heavy damage...correction; Hope just rammed the Alpha attacking Constitution. She reports that she’s lost two flight decks, but remains operational.”



“They’re concentrating on the flight decks,” the Admiral said. Hind wasn't sure if the Admiral had meant to speak aloud. “They know our weaknesses, of course. Take out the flight decks and the carriers are useless.”



“Quicksilver and Witch are taking fire,” another tactical officer said. two more escort carriers, only included with the fleet because they’d needed additional flight decks. Neither of them had the sheer mass of armour that was built into an assault carrier or a fleet carrier; they were doomed almost from the moment the Trolls targeted them for destruction. “Vision is attempting to cover Witch, but is taking fire herself.”



“Bring up the flux drives,” the Admiral ordered. Hind was surprised that she hadn't given the order earlier. The fleet’s mission had turned into a complete disaster. “Are we still in range to bombard the planet?”



“Yes, Admiral,” the tactical officer said. “We can still salvo missiles at Cadiz.”



“Then launch them,” the Admiral ordered. “If they’re anything like us, they’ll move to cover the planet and give us time to escape...”



Powerful shuddered violently as alarms howled through the massive ship. “Direct hit to flight deck eight,” the tactical officer snapped. “I’m reading massive destruction inside the tube.”



“Seal that section,” someone barked. It took Hind a moment to realise that it was the starship’s Captain. “Rotate the ship to...”



His voice vanished as another explosion rocked the giant vessel. “Direct hit to compartment theta-rho-alpha,” the tactical officer snapped. “The hullmetal took most of the blast, but the bleed-through has damaged the compartment...”



“Enemy ship destroyed,” another officer said. “The starfighters killed her!”



“Missiles away,” someone else said. “Cadiz has been targeted; missile impact in ten minutes and counting...”



“Keep their drives online,” the Admiral ordered. She was effectively holding the planet hostage, Hind realised, unsure if she should be impressed or alarmed. There was no such thing as precise targeting in the middle of a war zone, she had been informed, and it was quite possible that one of the missiles would strike the human-controlled areas rather than the alien colony. “We want them to see the threat...”



Powerful rang like a bell as something struck home. “Direct hit to forward section,” an officer reported. “We have major internal damage...”



“Lightning, Jutland and Midway have been destroyed,” the tactical officer said. “The flux drive is online and ready to jump us out.”



“Recall the starfighters,” the CAG ordered. “Admiral...”



“Belay that order,” the Admiral said. “The starfighters are to cover the fleet as it withdraws.”



The CAG stared at her. “Admiral,” he protested, finally, “if you leave the starfighters in the system...”



Another impact struck Powerful and he broke off. “I know,” the Admiral snapped, her voice icy cold. “But we need to preserve as much as possible of the fleet as we can. The starfighters are to cover our retreat.”



There was a long moment as they locked eyes, and then the CAG looked away. “Very well, Admiral,” he said, his tone one step short of outright insubordination. “The starfighters will be abandoned as we fall back from the system.”



“Shimmering Harmony and Nimitz have been destroyed,” the tactical officer said.



“General orders to all ships,” the Admiral said, her voice cutting through the noise almost effortlessly. “The fleet is to withdraw; I say again, the fleet is to withdraw. We will scatter and rendezvous at point beta.”



There was a long pause. “Flux drive spinning up, Admiral,” the tactical officer said. “And we are jumping...”



Hind felt her stomach churn as the flux drive activated. They were doing an unplanned jump, she realised in horror, just before her chest gave up the remains of her last meal. She wasn't the only one to lose her lunch, somewhat to her relief; several other officers vomited on the decks as the jump was completed. Even the Admiral looked rather unsteady.



“Admiral,” she began...



“Not now,” the Admiral snapped. She looked...beaten, Hind saw; beaten and broken and tormented by guilt. “Just...not now.”

***​

“They’re gone!”



Flight Captain Timothy Gabon shared his subordinate’s disbelief, but choked it down as Vampire Squadron reformed and prepared for its final battle. Apart from a badly damaged assault carrier, so badly damaged that it couldn’t jump out and escape, 5th Fleet was gone – or destroyed. The Trolls had ambushed the fleet so badly that it was certain that most of the cruisers and destroyers had been destroyed along with nine carriers. One way or another, the UNNS had suffered a shattering defeat.



“Yes, they’re gone,” he said. He found it hard, almost impossible, to believe what had just happened. The starfighter pilots trusted the carriers not to abandon them if the fight went badly – but against any normal foe, there would have been time to recall the fighters and land them on the carriers before they had to jump out. Given the sheer level of firepower the Trolls brought to close-range engagements, the Admiral had probably had no choice, apart from retreating at once. But that thought didn't make it any easier to bear. “Form up on me and prepare to go down fighting.”



There was no point in trying to surrender. As he watched, the Trolls were wiping out the few lifepods that had been launched from various ships before they were destroyed. They almost seemed to be waiting – waiting, he saw, for the starfighters to exhaust their weapons and life support. The Trolls would probably be happier waiting for them to die peacefully rather than hunting them down. Maybe, just maybe, they could make it to a RockRat sanctuary, except they didn't have the slightest idea where to look for one. And then they would just lead the Trolls to the hidden base.



He shook his head. Nine hundred starfighters had been abandoned in the system, eight hundred and fifty of them piloted by veterans. There was no escaping the fact that the Trolls had given the human race a bloody nose that far exceeded the one they’d taken at Capricorn; worse, with 5th Fleet effectively destroyed, they could launch a second attack on Capricorn at leisure. But it hardly mattered. All that mattered now was killing as many Trolls as they could before they ran out of life support and died.



“Come on, you apes,” he said, as he gunned his engine. “Who wants to live forever?”

***​

“Three fleet carriers and two assault carriers survived, Admiral,” the tactical officer said, an hour after their escape from Cadiz. They had jumped again to the RV point and discovered that only fifty-two ships had made it out of the fire. 5th Fleet had been slaughtered, losing nearly all of its striking power in a single engagement. “All of our starfighters, save five that suffered electrical faults that prevented their launch, were lost.”



Donna nodded, staring down at her empty desk. 5th Fleet had had fifteen heavy carriers and a dozen escort carriers – and almost all of them had been lost. The five that had survived were too badly damaged to return to battle, even if new starfighters and pilots could be drawn from Capricorn Base. They’d even lost the experienced pilots they needed to train new maggots and impart the lessons they would need to learn to survive.



Offhand, she couldn't think of a single battle that had been lost so badly. The first major engagement of the Magana War had been costly, but the damage hadn't been so great and the United Nations Expeditionary Force had survived to fight again. Fighting to support the Sutra Royalists hadn't been so costly – and the Dispute with the RockRats had been fought out with small ships, not least because both sides hadn't wanted to wage war to the knife. And it would be her name that would go down in history as a paragon of military competence; Admiral Donna Cicero, a worthy heir to Custer, Percival or Yamamoto. The loss of so many fine ships was bad enough, but losing their crews was worse...



They’d court-martial her, of course; they wouldn't have any choice. And then they would need a scapegoat, so they would drag her through the mud time and time again, destroying her to please a frightened public. Once the news of the defeat leaked out – and it would; she had no doubt of that – the politicians would demand that someone was thrown to the wolves, and she knew better than to expect any political support as her patrons struggled to distance themselves from the disaster. She would go down in history as an incompetent who had gotten much of her fleet butchered and then had to abandon her starfighter pilots to save the rest of her crewmen...



“I understand,” she said, shortly. “Order the StarCom spun up and make a brief report to Capricorn, and then order the fleet to jump out before they track the transmission and try to jump us. No, inform Commodore Heinz that he is in command of the fleet until further notice and his first priority is to return to Capricorn.”



“Aye, Admiral,” the tactical officer said. “Do you...?”



“Go,” Donna snapped.



The tactical officer retreated at high speed, the hatch to her stateroom hissing closed behind him. His report lay on her desk, a constantly updating dirge of the disaster that had overwhelmed 5th Fleet. Starships damaged, including several cruisers and a carrier that would probably be better used by being cannibalised for spare parts rather than being repaired in Capricorn’s docks. Another cruiser had been so badly damaged that she’d been lucky to jump out at all; her crew were being evacuated to one of the carriers, before the ship itself was abandoned in interstellar space. Perhaps, when peace returned to the galaxy, she could be recovered, or left drifting endlessly as a memorial of her failure.



Her career was over, but that hardly mattered. Perhaps no battle since the Battle of Midway, a wet-navy battle nearly five hundred years ago, had left one side so completely shattered. It boded ill for the war, and it was her fault. Nothing she could do could excise the taint of her failure.



Carefully, she opened her bottom drawer and removed the service pistol that had been presented to her after she’d completed the required course in shooting and self-defence at the Luna Academy. It had been years since any UN starship had been boarded in action, but regulations still insisted that all officers and crewmen had to carry sidearms to repel boarders if necessary. If the Trolls had actually grown a slave race of soldiers – and it certainly seemed that they had – perhaps they would think nothing of a boarding action. Maybe there was sense in the regulations after all.



Quite calmly, she lifted the pistol, checked that there was a round in the chamber, pointed it at her head and pulled the trigger.

***​

The first person to visit the Admiral’s cabin was unable to raise the Admiral and contacted the Marines, who – after checking with the ship’s Captain – forced the door. They discovered the Admiral’s body lying slumped in her chair and called for a medic, but it was clear from the start that nothing could be done to save her life. According to the Marines, the Admiral had been dead for over an hour before the tactical officer had tried to raise her. She had committed suicide.



Hind wrote the final pages of her report afterwards, wondering just how badly the Admiral had taken her own failure. It seemed clear from talking to some of the survivors that 5th Fleet had been effectively shattered – and the fact that they’d been convinced that they were winning the battle had only made it worse. The Trolls had jumped them with impressive skill and slaughtered the human ships. Worst of all, according to the analysis staff, the Trolls didn't even seem to have pre-planned the ambush. The data suggested that the Trolls had taken advantage of an opportunity to bring in the rest of their fleet.



“They were emitting StarCom pulses from the Alphas,” the analyst admitted. Hind hadn't understood, so the analyst explained in baby language. “They have an effective way to coordinate starships and military operations at interstellar distances.”



It had taken some time for Hind to understand the implications. StarCom units were massive installations orbiting a single world, or crammed into a fleet carrier where they drained half the ship’s power to pulse a signal several light years. But if the Trolls could mount a unit on their cruisers, they could presumably coordinate their operations with much greater skill. They could instantly react to the Navy’s movements, while the Navy would require days or weeks to realise that the Trolls had moved and move to counter them.



The analysts had come up with their own explanation of what that meant and it chilled her. They’d hit the various planets they’d targeted with just enough force to overwhelm the defenders quickly and brutally, keeping the remainder of the fleet out of range. If one fleet ran into trouble, they’d call for help and a second fleet would arrive. The only hopeful note was that the Trolls had fallen back from Capricorn. And no one expected them to wait long before attacking the base for a second time. The 5th Fleet wouldn’t come riding to the rescue this time.



She shook her head as she looked down at her report. No doubt most of it would be censored out anyway, but she had to try. The people had a right to know what had happened, even though there would be panic once the truth came into the light. They had to know.



Didn't they?

 

Wow excellent as usual, we have no idea who or what the trolls command system is, I would guess some type of AI or cyborg. I guess we will see.
Thanks for sharing your work!

 

For some reason, SM isn't letting me update. It keeps crashing every time I try.

Chris

 

OH NO was looking foward to an update

 

Hope they fix it quick. I'm looking forward to your next posting.

Thanks

 

Still no luck. Updates here - http://www.counter-factual.net/upload/showthread.php?t=15931

 

Can't read those updates.

 

I really hope you finish this here.
I love your work.

 

Chapter Twenty-Three

Luna
4th May 2435

“Just how bad was it?”

The analyst, in the unenviable position of having to give bad news to his superior, squirmed. “Very bad, sir,” he said, finally. “5th Fleet is no longer combat-capable.”

“Give me the report,” Anton ordered, finally. The analyst passed the datapad over and Anton looked at the summery. 5th Fleet had been shattered. The Trolls had managed to completely reverse the verdict of First Capricorn; five carriers had survived, but with only a handful of starfighters. And Admiral Cicero had committed suicide. “I see.”

The analyst didn’t need to tell him just how bad it was. Anton knew precisely what would happen if Capricorn fell – and the fleet base was likely to fall now that 5th Fleet had been shattered by the Trolls. Fifty worlds would be exposed to the Trolls before they hit the inner defence line...and there would be panic, massive panic. The refugee crisis they’d had from the outer worlds would become a great deal worse once those worlds realised that the distant war was about to reach their atmospheres. Evacuating so many people would be impossible – and even if they did manage to find the starships to lift them, where the hell would they go?

“Thank you,” Anton said, finally. There was no point in shooting the bearer of bad news, something he’d learned as a young CO. “Tell your superiors that I want a full report on everything new we learned about the Trolls in that battle. You are dismissed.”

He watched the analyst flee through the hatch and then keyed a switch on his desk. “Jane, please contact Commander Weaver and Colonel Montgomery and inform them that I wish to see them in my office now,” he ordered. “And then get me an emergency link to the Security Council. I will need to speak with them as soon as possible.”

It wouldn't be long before word got out, he knew, and then there would be panic. Everyone would be looking for a scapegoat, for someone to blame. Admiral Cicero’s suicide would probably ensure that she took most of the blame, but the politicians wouldn't be satisfied without a live sacrifice to throw to the media vultures. Admiral Davidson had urged the counterattack on Cadiz that had turned into a disaster, yet Anton knew that the last thing 9th Fleet needed was a political catfight. He didn't intend to relieve Davidson unless it couldn't be avoided.

The hatch hissed open, revealing Commander Weaver and Colonel James Montgomery. Montgomery had been a Federation Marine before taking a serious wound in combat and transferring to the Red Team, a little-known section of the Admiralty’s Strategic Planning Division. Red Team’s job was to think of the worst-case scenarios and then devise plans and procedures for overcoming them. Their reports didn't make comfortable reading.

“Gentlemen,” Anton said. Commander Weaver had done excellent work as part of the Alien Analysis team. It was time for him to be transferred again. “You’ll get the full report later, but the key point is that 5th Fleet has been effectively destroyed and that Capricorn Base is likely to fall sooner rather than later. Once it falls, the Trolls will be able to ravage their way into the inner worlds at will.”

Montgomery’s face flickered, slightly. His team had drawn up hundreds of possible predictions for the future of the war, some of which suggested that the United Nations would be defeated in less than a year. With the Trolls demanding nothing less than unconditional surrender, it was unlikely that any future peace mission would manage to convince them otherwise, not unless the UNNS managed to deploy a completely new weapons system that could match the Troll death rays. Anton had high hopes for the research teams, but duplicating the weapons was a chancy process.

“We have to assume the worst,” he continued. “We must give some thought to continuing the fight when – if – the vast majority of the Navy has been defeated.”

Humanity had fought the Sutra on even terms and had enjoyed a slight edge over the Magana, but the Trolls possessed superior weapons, starships and now communications systems. Anton could envisage countless hit-and-run raids devastating the inner worlds, weakening the United Nations as its defenders chased the Trolls from system to system, until the Trolls felt they could bring their fleet into the Sol System and attack Earth itself. Humanity had fought such a war against the Magana; it was quite likely that the Trolls would do the same to the United Nations. They were certainly advanced enough to understand the weak points in the galactic economy.

The analysts were still puzzling over how the Trolls had managed to get into space in the first place, In theory, a race couldn't climb into space until it had managed to develop the scientific method and a respect for science that was lacking in many barbaric societies, at least unless someone else gave it the technology without the social development that accompanied technological development. The Magana had been barbarians because they’d been given the technology to reach space without having to work for it. But the Trolls were actually more advanced than humanity and yet they acted like barbarians. Why weren't they willing to discuss peace terms? Surely they had to know that crushing the entire United Nations would be difficult, costly and perhaps fatal.

“You speak of post-war resistance,” Montgomery said, flatly. “We have no idea how the Trolls will react to that.”

“I think we have to prepare for the worst,” Anton said. The worlds the Trolls didn't nuke, for whatever reason, were sealed off from space. Even assuming that that was all the Trolls did to the inner worlds, the human race would be at their mercy for the rest of eternity if they couldn't get off their planets. The RockRats would probably be hunted down and exterminated. “We have to give some thought to continuing the fight if we lose the first war.”

Commander Weaver was shocked. “But surely the other powers will intervene,” he said. “They can't want the Trolls for neighbours.”

“I imagine they don’t want the Trolls for neighbours,” Anton agreed, dryly. “But right now, they’re too scared of the Trolls to consider intervening and probably widening the war. ONI says that both the Sutra and the Polis had put their own weapons programs into high gear, but unless they come up with something that allows them to take the Trolls on – without the staggering losses that we have taken – we have to assume that they will try to stay out of the fighting. The best we have from them is a promise to take some human refugees.”

He shook his head. “We cannot count on any of them,” he added. “At best, they will intern any humans they find in their space after the war is lost. At worst...”

“The Trolls might go after them next,” Montgomery said. “They must know that that is a possibility.”

“They do,” Anton said. “But they won’t commit themselves to the war unless they feel that they have a decisive advantage or they have no choice.”

There was a long pause. “Project Iceberg is the most suitable response to a possible defeat, I feel,” Montgomery said, finally. “The reasons for vetoing it – ah, your predecessor vetoed it – no longer apply.”

Anton frowned. He hadn't been briefed on Iceberg. “Tell me about it,” he ordered. “What exactly did the planners have in mind?”

“Iceberg is a fairly useless system on the edge of the Triangle,” Montgomery explained. “Politically speaking, the exact ownership is mildly disputed – mildly because no one actually wants the system very much. It’s too close to the Hexed System for comfort.”

Anton nodded. The Hexed System was one of the galaxy’s great unsolved mysteries, a puzzle that had baffled the UN – and every other galactic political unit – for over a hundred years. Simply put, every starship that entered the Hexed System suffered a series of minor failures that eventually destroyed the ship unless the crew left the system very quickly. The record for remaining in the system and escaping alive was five days – every attempt to stay further had resulted in the starship being lost. No one had come up with an explanation for the system that suited everyone; as far as anyone could tell, the Hexed System was completely empty, ready for settlement. Spacers generally gave the area a wide berth.

“The general concept was to establish a settlement on Iceberg itself, an icy moon orbiting a gas giant,” Montgomery continued. “That settlement would be completely hidden, providing a base for intelligence operations within the Triangle and – if necessary – supporting patrol ships for military deployments. Now, the base would be used as a nexus of resistance activity against the Trolls; we could ship out the core of a R&D facility as well as trained soldiers and spacers, giving the resistance a chance to continue attempting to crack the Troll weapons.”

“Chancy,” Anton observed. “What if the base happened to be discovered?”

“It would be destroyed,” Montgomery admitted, frankly. “The defences that would be needed to hold off the Trolls – or anyone else for that matter – would be easy for any survey team to spot. Red Team has considered several possibilities, Admiral, but the only other possibility worth a damn is hidden asteroid bases. And we know that the Trolls are searching for them in every system they take.”

“For fear of the RockRats,” Anton said. It would have been nice if the RockRats had shared their intelligence – and planned operations – with the UN, but instead they were largely fighting a private war. “How long would it take to establish the base?”

“Assuming that we were given full access to supplies, not more than a year,” Montgomery said. “The original survey team found suitable caves under the ice for settlement, so it would mainly be a task of converting them into living quarters and concealed hangers. Once the base was operational, we could start transferring picked crews and their families while faking their deaths. The mining equipment would still be there so they could simply expand further if necessary.”

Anton nodded. “You’ll have full authority to draw whatever you need,” he said. “I want you and Commander Weaver to take the lead on this project. No one – and I mean no one – is to have any knowledge of Iceberg unless they’re going to remain on the base indefinitely. If anyone asks questions, refer them to me.”

“We will have to make some preparations for a government-in-exile,” Montgomery warned. “I’d expect the Security Council to have some nominees to take over if Earth falls.”

Anton wouldn't have been too surprised to hear that the Security Council had its own contingency plans. “Leave that to me,” he said. “There are evacuation plans for Luna if the Trolls ever get within engagement range of Sol. If those plans are needed, the Security Council can be evacuated and then moved to Iceberg.”

“Understood, sir,” Montgomery said. “You’ll have a full report on your desk tomorrow, once we update the contingency plans and then start making preparations.”

Anton smiled, humourlessly. “Good luck,” he said, flatly. “I have a feeling that we’re going to need it.”

***​

The news broke over Earth two hours later. At first, the general population didn't seem to understand what it meant; the war was still hundreds of light years away. But the media’s commenters managed to put it in surprisingly accurate context; 5th Fleet was gone, hundreds of thousands of lives had been lost...and the Trolls were at the gates. Whatever feeling of safety the inner worlds had enjoyed evaporated into nothingness, leaving panic in its wake. Anton watched grimly as riots broke out all over Earth, with pro-peace factions taking a beating from rioters who blamed them – somewhat irrationally – for the defeat. It was true that 5th Fleet had followed the peace mission into the system, but the peace mission had hardly doomed 5th Fleet. That had come when the Trolls had slipped a cloaked attack force into engagement range and pounded 5th Fleet’s carriers into scrap.

Shaking his head, he issued orders for additional units to be pulled off the border with the Polis and sent to reinforce 3rd Fleet. 9th Fleet already had too many maggots in its starfighters, but the desperate measures that had produced such a crisis would have to be repeated throughout the United Nations. Several classes of starfighter pilots would have to be graduated without completing their training, a terrifying prospect if it hadn't been so necessary. At least they’d already managed to ramp up starfighter production, thankfully. There would be planes for the pilots to fly, once they got out to the fleet.

There was no political will to reduce Home Fleet’s deployable strength by reinforcing 3rd Fleet, currently based at New Brisbane. New Brisbane had been a major base back when the UN had been expanding before encountering the Sutra, but in the following centuries it had been largely neglected, even though it did hold the key role in the inner defence line. There just hadn't been the money to keep updating the base, nor the political will to push the local government into contributing itself. Besides, New Brisbane had a self-defence force of its own. The locals weren't going to pay for the UN’s ships when they already had to pay for their own. But right now 3rd Fleet needed all the additional firepower it could get.

7th and 8th Fleets would have to be pulled away from their own stations, leaving only a handful of squadrons to carry out defence duties against pirates, renegades and possible alien threats. Between them, they represented awesome levels of firepower – but so did the Trolls. Anton knew that holding the line was going to be difficult, if not impossible, yet they had to try. Perhaps the horse would learn to sing after all. He left the Admiralty to finish drawing up the orders for the fleet redeployment and headed for the Security Council’s chamber. There was no longer any choice. They would have to declare martial law – and a full-fledged switch to war production – across the entire United Nations.

The chamber’s atmosphere seemed heavy with the scent of barely-concealed panic once the representatives had finished watching the destruction of 5th Fleet. Coming after the victory at First Capricorn, the defeat was a catastrophic blow to their morale – and the rejection of any peace terms save unconditional surrender meant that they had no way to secure their power and positions in the event of an alien victory. They had once considered themselves masters of the universe. Now, they had to wonder what would happen when – if – the Trolls fought their way to Earth.

“The situation is grim,” Anton said, once the horrific scene had come to an end. “We must assume the worst. Capricorn is doomed and the war is about to advance into the inner systems. There is no way that we can provide security for all of the threatened worlds.”

“Then we did we spend so much money on the Navy?” One of the representatives demanded. He sounded angry, but Anton could hear the panic underlying his words. “Why did we meet your exorbitant demands for funding if you cannot protect us from the Trolls?”

That wasn't exactly how Anton remembered the endless battles for funding, but he let it pass without comment. “Right now, the only way we have to face the Trolls with any hope of success involves massive concentration of force,” he said, flatly. “If I disperse 3rd Fleet – and the other fleets when they arrive – their units will be scattered over nearly fifty different star systems. The Trolls will have their opportunity to pick off hundreds of ships without needing to risk a significant defeat. In fact, given their demonstrated superiority in weapons and communications, a relatively small Troll force might be able to inflict crippling damage before we can react to it.”

He’d wondered how the Security Council would take his words – and was surprised, and puzzled, when they took them surprisingly calmly. “We must put our industries on a war production footing immediately,” he continued. “Right now, we’re burning through pre-war stocks at an alarming rate. We need to start mass production of everything from bomb-pumped lasers to standard missiles, mines and even StarCom units. We also need to federalise the various self-defence forces and start deploying them – at least their starfighter pilots – with the Navy, as well as instituting a general conscription program.”

“That would be hugely unpopular,” the American Ambassador noted.

“It gets worse,” Anton said. “We have to start preparing to evacuate vast numbers of people from the threatened worlds – and use war emergency measures to force planets to take them. Right now, sir, the Trolls have a chance to launch a campaign against us that will take them to the edge of the core worlds themselves. We have to accept that we’re fighting this war until we win or until the Trolls start tearing through the inner worlds. This is war to the knife.”

He could understand their concern, for the UN had only limited powers over the major worlds and their economies. The founders had been willing to agree that humanity needed some form of united authority, but they’d also been concerned about how that authority could be abused, particularly given the corruption and abuse of the UN’s early days on Earth. Eventually, they’d come up with a compromise that had suited almost everyone – but right now had become a suicide pact. Convincing the various worlds to accept rationalised production and war emergency powers wouldn't be easy.

“There is no choice,” he said, grimly. “Right now, we still have a chance to stem the tide and push the Trolls back to wherever they came from. But if the Trolls break into the core worlds, the war will be lost. And that will be the end of the human race.”

 

Chapter Twenty-Four

Capricorn Base
6th May 2435

“My God,” one of the maggots breathed. “Look at them.”

“That will do,” Connie snapped at him. At least the remainder of the flight had enough sense to stay quiet as the remains of 5th Fleet returned to Capricorn. A handful of ships, all badly damaged – and lacking the starfighters that would have allowed them to defend themselves when the Trolls came to finish the job. Rumours had been flying around the base for several days, yet they didn't seem to grasp the reality. The surviving carriers of 5th Fleet were all badly damaged and effectively inoperable.

The maggots had made progress, as even Connie was prepared to admit. They weren't anything like as good as her first command, but in some ways they had less to unlearn and there was plenty of data on how the Trolls fought for them to use in simulations. The maggots had even engaged in mock dogfights with other squadrons and done remarkably well. But Connie refused to allow herself to grow too attached to them, knowing just how many of them would die when the Trolls returned to Capricorn. Blue Squadron – the maggots had been pressing to be allowed to choose a nickname, but no nickname could be chosen until the squadron had fought its first battle – would be hammered when they went into battle for the first time.

They weren't the only ones. 9th Fleet had been drilling endlessly since the last battle, trying to develop new tactics that might allow them to give the Trolls another bloody nose. But everyone knew that it was just a matter of time before the Trolls returned with enough force to seize the base; the Admiral had been evacuating everyone from the system whose presence was not absolutely necessary. The vast hordes of refugees from the worlds hit by the Trolls had been moved further into human space, to worlds that were reluctantly preparing shelter for them now that the United Nations had declared martial law. Connie wondered what would happen if – when – Capricorn fell. Hundreds of other worlds would be exposed to the Trolls.

“Form up on me,” she ordered, tightly. 5th Fleet was angling in towards the base now, the damaged ships heading towards the shipyard. Connie doubted that there would be time to repair them, even if half the workers hadn't been sent back to the inner worlds. It was more likely that tugs would be assigned to transport the carriers to the inner worlds, assuming that the Admiral didn't decide to just scrap the badly-damaged ships. She caught sight of a fleet carrier that had lost three of its flight decks and shivered. The carriers had been designed to continue operating even after losing some of its flight decks, but that had been in the days before they had encountered Troll death rays. She wouldn't survive for five minutes if the Trolls managed to get into engagement range and opened fire.

Blue Squadron formed up and lanced towards the carriers, providing what escort they could. Up close, it was alarmingly clear that the carriers had lost all of their starfighters. They would be helpless targets when the Trolls returned to Capricorn. Connie suspected that they would definitely be sent home. Who knew? Maybe they could be fixed in time to join the defence line forming up around New Brisbane.

She shook her head, dismissing the thought. For the moment, all that mattered was whipping the maggots into shape and preparing for the coming battle. She doubted that the Trolls would underestimate Capricorn Base a second time.

***​

“My God,” Vice Admiral Paul Howard said. “They were chewed to ribbons.”

“So it would seem,” Admiral Davidson agreed. Back on Luna, the Board of Inquiry would already be considering the reasons for the defeat. Admiral Cicero, no longer able to defend herself, would probably be given most of the blame, but Davidson knew that that wouldn’t be the end of it. 5th Fleet had been shattered and panic was spreading through the inner worlds. The Security Council would need to sacrifice people to the mob and the Board of Inquiry was looking for possible victims. “Commodore Heinz has made it clear that 5th Fleet is no longer combat-effective.”

He looked around the small compartment. The officers he had summoned to attend – via hologram, as they had no idea when the Trolls would begin their assault – were all from 9th Fleet, or from the base itself. There were no officers from 5th Fleet, a grim acknowledgment that the fleet was no longer serviceable. Besides, with a Board of Inquiry looking for scapegoats, he didn't want to risk contaminating his own command structure.

“We have to assume that we may be attacked at any moment,” he said. Deep-space sensors had been picking up hints that the Trolls were watching Capricorn Base – and now that the remains of 5th Fleet had returned to the base, the way was clear for the Trolls to capitalise on their success by obliterating both fleets as well as the base itself. “Their FTL communications systems ensures that they will suffer no time-delay in assembling their forces. As of now, Plan Stalingrad is to be considered active.”

Howard stared at him. “Admiral...”

“There’s little choice,” Davidson said, flatly. Plan Stalingrad had been dreamed up as a worst-case scenario, a plan he had never expected to have to use. And then the Trolls had shattered 5th Fleet and taught him just how limited his imagination had been. “We know that we are going to lose the base. We cannot afford to lose more starships and starfighters in a futile defence.”

The analysts had claimed that the Trolls had a better cloaking device than the United Nations; it was certainly true that a large Troll fleet had gotten into firing range of 5th Fleet without being detected until it was too late. Davidson had no difficulty imagining other scenarios where the Trolls would launch cloaked ships into Capricorn, attempting to wipe out the fleet’s carriers before they could jump out and escape. And the UN could not afford to lose more carriers. The cruisers and destroyers that had served as the fleet’s workhorses ever since the Traders had given humanity the keys to the stars were nothing more than targets for the Trolls. Some of the new missiles and weapons promised to change that, but there wouldn't be any of them at the next battle for Capricorn.

“The remains of 5th Fleet will remain here long enough to load up with starfighters and refugees, and then jump out towards New Brisbane,” Davidson ordered. Even with hundreds of freighters commandeered under martial law, evacuating the entire system was still a lengthy process. The carriers had enough life support to carry thousands of additional refugees away from the system, back to where they could help rebuild the fleet and defend the human race. “Once the Trolls arrive, 9th Fleet will fall back and jump out on my command, abandoning Capricorn to the Trolls.” He looked up at Vice Admiral Howard. “At that moment, you will succeed to overall command of 9th Fleet. Take the ships to New Brisbane and join the defence line there.”

Vice Admiral Howard held up a hand, but Davidson spoke over him. “There’s no choice,” he said. “Right now, we don’t have anything that can detect the presence of cloaked Trolls at long range. 9th Fleet must not be shattered like 5th Fleet was shattered. If we lose 9th Fleet too, we may be unable to stop the Trolls before the Core Worlds, if at all.”

He watched as that sank into their minds. The Trolls were the most advanced enemy the human race had ever faced, yet few officers had truly believed that they were facing absolute defeat. Losing the outer worlds was painful, but it didn't really affect humanity’s ability to produce starships and weapons and carry on the fight. But if – when – the Trolls started raiding into the inner worlds, they would start destroying shipyards, industrial nodes and cloudscoops, crippling the human race’s ability to make war. And as long as the human race had no idea where the Trolls were based, there was little chance of being able to counterattack by hitting the Troll industrial base. The war might be within shouting distance of being lost.

The inner worlds certainly hadn't believed that the human race could be defeated, not until the news of Second Cadiz had leaked out. Some still believed that there was no real crisis – that it was just another skirmish with an inferior alien race – but martial law and the switch to total war production had silenced most of the doubters. Hundreds of thousands of people were trying to flee, while others had been jailed for protesting martial law or the war itself. He had little sympathy for the protesters, if only because they refused to see the obvious. It took both sides to make peace, but only one to make war – and, so far, the Trolls had refused to discuss anything, apart from unconditional surrender. The destruction of the peace envoy had been an act of shocking barbarity.

“It is vitally important that 9th Fleet be preserved,” he reminded them. “On my signal, the starfighters are to be recalled and the fleet is to jump out. The base’s defences will cover you as long as necessary.”

He hesitated. “I will be remaining on Capricorn myself,” he concluded, “along with a staff of volunteers to man the defences. I do not intend to surrender.”

Not that surrender seems to be possible, he added, in the privacy of his own mind. The Trolls happily fired on escape pods and crippled ships, something that puzzled the analysts; surely, any race capable of logical thinking would conclude that accepting surrender made it easier to convince others to surrender. They’d gone around and around the point countless times, but none of their solutions had made sense. The Trolls could simply have dumped their prisoners on one of the captured worlds if they didn't have transports to take them back into their own territory. And why would they not want human military personnel for interrogation?

“Admiral,” Vice Admiral Howard began, “you should command from your flagship...”

“Not this time,” Davidson said. It was tradition, a tradition that had endured since the first days of the UNNS, that the senior commanding officer would share the same risks as his men. There were times when the policy had its drawbacks – losing a vital commander could cause entire fleets to fragment, at least until a new commander assumed command – but it was one of the keys to maintaining morale in the fleet. “In the event of my death before you jump out, you will assume command and pull out as much of 9th Fleet as possible.”

He tapped the table, firmly. “As I have said before, we must not lose 9th Fleet,” he reminded them. “And as long as we preserve those carriers, the entire base is expendable. Dismissed.”

The holograms winked out, leaving him alone with two officers from the base itself. “Start moving the personnel for evacuation,” he ordered. Capricorn Base would be almost deserted by the time the Trolls arrived, if they were lucky. “Is the defence grid ready?”

“Yes, Admiral,” Commander Hsu said. She’d been one of the first volunteers to remain behind. “And all of the missiles are linked into the system.”

“Good,” Davidson said. He had no illusions about their ability to hold the system, but at least they could give the Trolls a bloody nose before they destroyed the base. It was unlikely that they would want to capture it, even though a normal foe would want the weapons and equipment that the UN had stockpiled over the years. Some of those weapons would be used before the base self-destructed to ensure that nothing fell into Troll hands. “Go see to the evacuation. Now.”

***​

“Your request for a transfer to 9th Fleet has been granted,” Commander Jordon informed her. “You have been assigned a billet on Triumphant and a shuttle flight has been arranged for you.”

Hind nodded. As soon as the remains of 5th Fleet had reached Capricorn, she’d been transferred over to the base along with the handful of other reporters that had survived the battle. She had rather suspected that the Navy had decided that it didn't want her any longer – the dispatches she’d sent home had confirmed the sheer scale of the defeat at Second Cadiz – but instead it had allowed her a place on 9th Fleet’s current flagship.

Capricorn Base felt eerie as she wandered through the corridors, waiting for the planned shuttle flight to the fleet carrier. The base was being evacuated; thousands of personnel were being moved to the damaged ships that had survived Second Cadiz, along with enough life support packages to ensure that they would remain alive until the fleet reached New Brisbane. A long line of military personnel, some with partners and children in tow, were waiting for the next shuttle flight, watched by MPs openly carrying stunners and shock-rods. Hind had heard that there had been riots among the civilian refugees from the outer worlds; someone was clearly intent on ensuring that there wasn't a similar riot on Capricorn Base itself. The children were upset, some of them crying aloud as they were forced to leave behind everything, apart from a single carryall. All their toys and games would have been left behind in their quarters, along with most of their family’s possessions. A pair of women were clutching their wedding photographs in one hand, refusing to risk putting them down for fear that they would be left behind.

One of the MPs waved her on with his shock-rod and Hind obeyed, walking away from the docking ring and down to the observation corridor that ran around the exterior of the base. Outside, she could see the massive fleet carriers docking with the station, hastily funnelling refugees through the docking bays and out into their hulls; the docking bays, she realised in some horror, had became bottlenecks for the refugees. There were only so many that could be filtered through at a time. Beyond the fleet carriers, hundreds of shuttles flew through space, transporting refugees to starships too far away to dock with the station. She’d been told that it was the greatest evacuation ever undertaken since the Grant Incident of 2257, when a settled world had proven to undergo such a wrenching seasonal shift that it was uninhabitable for seven months out of every year. Looking out at the movement outside the base, she found it impossible to doubt it.

Most of the StarCom network had been reserved for military use, but she had managed to download a couple of bulletins from the inner worlds. The public was now fully aware of the scale of the crisis and countless thousands were attempting to escape to safety. It wouldn't be easy, even for those with money; the Navy had commandeered every starship with an FTL drive and put them to work on a more orderly evacuation. The news suggested that richer citizens were bribing officials to get their families prioritised for evacuation, news that had caused riots when it had finally broken out into the public datanet. God alone knew what would happen when – if – the crisis reached the core worlds. Humanity’s oldest worlds – and Earth itself – were so heavily populated that evacuation was effectively impossible.

Her wristcom buzzed, reminding her that she had to go back to the docking bay to board her shuttle. There had been enough dire warnings about what would happen if they missed their flights – at best, they would have to wait several days, pushed back to the end of the queue – to convince her that she didn't want to miss it. She walked back through the corridor, found the right line and joined up, abandoning most of her possessions on the station. Apart from her terminal and a change of clothes, both of which were carried in her handbag, there was nothing else she really needed.

The line moved slowly towards the shuttle as the MPs checked ID cards, making sure that everyone had authorisation to board this particular shuttle. One woman fell into hysterics when the MPs pulled her out of the line, pointing out that her shuttle was seven hours in the future. She started to fight them, only to be stunned and left to lie on the deck. Hind hoped, as she lost sight of the woman, that she would recover in time to board her own shuttle. It was hard to blame her for wanting to leave earlier.

Inside, the shuttle was crammed, the safety margins pushed to the limit. Hind found herself trapped between two burly men who looked to be asteroid miners, one eyeing her chest as if he’d just seen heaven. It was impossible to twist enough to avoid bodily contact, so she gritted her teeth and endured it as the shuttle lurched and disengaged from the docking port. Something was badly wrong with the gravity field; it seemed to be constantly wavering from standard gravity to almost no gravity at all. The shuttle was wobbling insanely as it made its way towards the fleet carrier...

…And then an alarm sounded. Hind felt panic running through the passengers as the shuttle picked up speed, the gravity field flickering so rapidly that two of the passengers were noisily sick. Her unwanted admirer grinned at her, almost as if he thought that she should be grateful for his attention, and then shuddered unpleasantly as the shuttle rocked again. It felt almost like riding on a boat on an unquiet sea.

“This is your pilot,” a voice said. “The Trolls have entered the system. Do not panic. I say again, do not panic.”

Hind winced as the feeling of panic grew stronger. They were in a shuttle without flux drive, a shuttle like the ones the Trolls had fired on without compunction. Of course they were going to panic...

 

Chapter Twenty-Five

Capricorn Base
6th May 2435

“The enemy has entered the system,” a voice snapped. “I say again, the enemy has entered the system.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Connie snapped, as red icons flared to life on her HUD. At least forty Troll starships had jumped into the system, led by a flight of Beta-class starfighter killers. Behind them, there was enough sensor disruption to suggest the presence of several more alien ships hiding under a stealth field. “Blue Squadron, form up on me and prepare to engage the enemy. We get one pass only so we’d better make damn sure it counts.”

She glanced at her HUD as the remains of 5th Fleet spun up their drives and jumped out, while 9th Fleet moved into position for its own departure from the system. Merely making one pass and then returning to the carriers didn't sit well with her, but the Trolls had definitely brought enough firepower to make sure that most of the fleet would buy the farm if they tried to fight it out with the Trolls at close range. By now, they all knew what the Trolls could do.

The maggots swung into position behind her as the other squadrons stormed past, racing towards the Betas. Connie braced herself as she altered her firing system, setting the launchers to fire all of the torpedoes towards her target when she entered firing range, and then angled her starfighter towards her target. The maggots followed with commendable speed, even though several of them seemed to be nervous, their hands twitching on the sticks and causing their craft to wobble alarmingly. Connie found it hard to blame them. If experienced squadrons could lose over half of their strength facing the Trolls, the maggots knew that most of their number would be eliminated when the Trolls opened fire. At least they’d spent days practicing evasive patterns. The Trolls would have to work to hit them.

“Ringbolt One is engaging,” a voice said. “I say again, Ringbolt One is engaging.”

Capricorn Base had stockpiled over a hundred thousand missiles for the fleet, too many to be loaded into the starships or pulled back to the inner worlds. Admiral Davidson’s teams had positioned the missiles in space, readying them for a handful of massive salvoes against the Trolls when they finally returned to Capricorn. Connie knew that it would be difficult to accurately guide so many missiles towards their targets, but it hardly mattered. Most of the missiles would die providing cover for the starfighters to slip in close and hammer the enemy.

“Wow,” one of the maggots breathed, as the swarm of missiles appeared on their HUDs. “I sure hope that they are programmed not to engage us.”

Connie felt her lips quirk into a brief smile as the missiles bore down on the starfighters. It was unlikely that there would be an accidental collision, or that the missiles would accidentally target the starfighters instead of the Trolls, but with so many craft flying through the same area of space accidents were likely to happen. Besides, IFF gear wasn't fully reliable at high speed. Ironically, the Trolls were helping the human race; the missiles had been fired outside engagement range, but the Trolls would close the gap before the missle drives burned out and the warheads self-destructed.

“Watch your back,” she ordered, calmly. The swarm of missiles merged with the starfighters and then raced onwards, heading towards the alien craft. They were already starting to spit fire towards the onrushing missiles. “And on my mark, go evasive.”

Space seemed to light up as missile after missile died, giving the starfighters a fighting chance to get close to the Betas without being targeted by their defences. Connie snapped a command and the maggots followed her into chaotic patterns, just as the aliens realised that there was a new threat and started firing on the starfighters. Several missiles actually made it all the way to their targets, blowing two Betas into space dust and damaging a third so badly that it actually limited out of formation and started retreating towards the edge of the star system. It must have lost its flux drive, Connie realised; the crew must be praying that no one would engage them before they managed to make repairs. But there was no time to hunt down and destroy the ship...

“Engage...now,” she snapped. Her starfighter shuddered as she volley-fired her torpedoes towards the target, followed by the surviving maggots. Three of them had died as they closed in on their target, the same target that was now switching its fire to the incoming torpedoes. Even the Trolls couldn't hope to stand off so many torpedoes at close range...three survived long enough to slam into its hull and damage the ship badly. A moment later, it jumped out and vanished.

“Pull back,” Connie ordered. “Return to the carriers.”

“But we could win,” one of the maggots protested. “We could...”

“Get back to the carrier or I swear I will beat the shit out of you,” Connie snapped. Maybe he was right, if the starfighters were prepared to bleed themselves white again. But they would still have to return to the carriers to rearm anyway. “And get the hell out of their engagement range before they hit you!”

The Troll starships were actually speeding up, bringing their weapons into engagement range of the retreating starfighters. They fired rapidly, pulsing waves of fire through the starfighters, picking off several dozen of them before they could escape and rearm. The starfighters accelerated themselves, racing back towards the carriers and leaving the Trolls behind; for a moment, Connie wondered what they would do – what they could do – if the Troll starships proved able to match the starfighter speed. But instead the Trolls fell back and continued patiently towards the base – and 9th Fleet.

They weren't taking any chances either, she realised. The Trolls were firing on everything that came into range, from lifepods to pieces of space debris left behind by the previous battle. At first, their tactics made no sense to her – and then she realised that they were ensuring that there were no more surprises waiting for them. The human race had used mines and other concealed weapons to hurt them in the past; this time, they were lifting up and looking under every stone as they advanced on the base. There wouldn't be a second chance to hurt them so badly.

The starfighters slowed as they approached the carriers, following orders from the CAG to land in formation so the craft could be rearmed as quickly as possible. As far as Connie knew, the plan hadn’t changed – but it was quite possible for the carrier to be crippled, forced to unleash its remaining starfighters to defend itself. The starfighters from Capricorn Base were also heading towards the carriers, followed by the remaining shuttles carrying refugees from the massive installations the UN had built in the system. They would all have to be destroyed to prevent them falling into Troll hands. Assuming that they were interested in human technology...

“Take us in to land,” she ordered, as the squadron returned to the carrier. “And then remain in your cockpits. We may have to launch again at a moment’s notice.”

***​

The shuttle passengers were panicking openly as the massive fleet carrier came into view though the portholes. Hind saw a handful of starfighters streak past, followed by what might have been another shuttle – or a Troll ship. The panic grew worse as the passengers decided that it had to be the latter, just before the shuttle docked with the carrier and the hatch hissed open. There was a terrifying hiss of air for a long second, just enough to scare hell out of everyone before it faded away. The hatches hadn't mated properly.

“Out, out now,” a voice snapped. The passengers pushed and prodded at each other as they scrambled out through the hatch and into the fleet carrier. Outside, there were a line of armoured Marines, barking orders and pushing the refugees through the interior corridors and up towards the space that had been assigned for them. Connie felt a hand grabbing her ass and turned to see her unwanted admirer, grinning at her as if he expected her to enjoy his attentions. Instead, she twisted against the flood of people and brought her knee up into his groin, sending him staggering to the deck in pain.

Another hand grabbed her and yanked her out of the stream of passengers, just in time to save her from being trampled to death. A Marine pushed her against the bulkhead, ordered her to stay there, and then rescued her assailant before he could be crushed to a bloody pulp. Connie stared at him, and then up at the grim-faced Marine. There didn't seem to be time to explain that he’d started it...

“Now hear this,” a voice boomed through the ship. “Assume jump stations; I say again, assume jump stations.”

The stream of passengers came to an end as Connie settled down onto the deck. It was always better to be seated when a starship jumped, if only because some humans suffered from dizziness in the wake of jump shock. The Marine kept one hand on her shoulder, either out of protectiveness or – more likely – to ensure that she didn't slip away. God alone knew what would happen now; if they hadn't seen him groping her, they might assume that she had attacked him without provocation...

She shook her head. The system was under attack and it was quite possible that she would be dead before the carrier could jump out and escape. And if that happened, whatever happened to her afterwards wouldn't matter very much.

***​

“All fighters have returned to their ships, Admiral,” the tactical officer said.

Vice Admiral Paul Howard nodded, bitterly. He had hoped, against all logic and reason, that the first starfighter pass – combined with the emplaced missiles from the base – would damage the Trolls badly enough to justify launching a second strike. But, if anything, the situation had worsened sharply. Scout probes had penetrated the Troll stealth field and detected a further seventy starships within the field, slipping closer and closer to the base – and 9th Fleet. There was no way to know if the Trolls were also trying to slip cloaked ships closer to the fleet, but if he had their technology it was exactly what he would do. They had to know how long it took the United Nations to build a new fleet carrier from scratch.

“Spin up the drives,” he ordered. Leaving people behind didn’t come easily; no wonder Admiral Cicero had committed suicide. She had abandoned her pilots to the Trolls, knowing that there was no choice if she wanted to save her ships. “Jump us out as soon as the drives are powered up and ready.”

On the display, the Trolls were swarming closer to Capricorn Base. It wouldn't be long before they realised that the base had few defenders left and they decided to press their advantage...if they hadn't been so paranoid about traps, they might have managed to engage 9th Fleet before the fleet could escape.

“Drives powered up, Admiral,” the tactical officer said. “The fleet is jumping...now!”

***​

“Fire the second salvo of missiles,” Admiral Davidson ordered, as 9th Fleet retreated from the system. There was no longer any escape for him and the volunteers, but none of them had changed their minds in the last few moments before the fleet left. He allowed himself a brief moment of pride and then started to concentrate on issuing specific orders. “And then prepare to launch the third salvo of missiles.”

On the display, the Trolls opened fire with their death ways, scything countless missiles out of space. Their two formations were linking up slowly, but steadily – and their point defence was hellishly effective. Only seven missiles survived to target enemy ships and none of them managed to destroy their targets. At his command, the third salvo of missiles was launched, targeted on the damaged troll ships. This time, only one missile managed to slam home and destroy its target.

At least they had forced the Trolls to slow down, he told himself, firmly. It wasn't very convincing. The Trolls might not realise that the base was effectively defenceless against them, but they were certainly taking advantage of it. If they hadn't been so paranoid – if they hadn't paused long enough to destroy anything that could be a threat – they would have destroyed the base by now. Not that it really mattered; once the fifth and final salvo was launched, the base would be completely defenceless.

“The Trolls are entering engagement range of the final salvo,” the tactical officer reported. “Should I launch the missiles?”

“Hold them for a moment,” Davidson ordered. The Trolls might not have seen the missiles; when their drives weren't active, they were as stealthy as anything else without an active cloaking device. If they were fired at much closer range, they might surprise the Trolls. “If they start firing on the missiles, don’t wait for orders; launch them all at once.”

“Aye, sir,” the tactical officer said. The seconds ticked away as the Trolls came closer, their sensor sweeps sifting through space for possible targets. Davidson had already been forced to watch as a handful of lifepods were blasted out of space, either because the Trolls feared that they could be mines or through sheer unpleasantness. It was impossible to tell what was going through their minds. “I think they’ve got them!”

Davidson nodded as the Trolls opened fire. The tactical officer keyed a switch and the missiles started to bring up their drives, racing towards the Troll starships at close range. They opened fire, wiping out dozens of missiles, but a handful survived to slam into the Troll ships, blowing four of them into flaming plasma. Two more were damaged, jumping out for repairs, yet the remainder kept coming. It would only be a minute before they entered engagement range of the base itself.

“Gentlemen, it’s been a honour,” Davidson said, to the entire compartment. “Thank you for staying at your posts.”

The base rocked as the Trolls opened fire, their death rays cutting through the heavy armour surrounding the base and biting deep into its vitals. A series of explosions shattered the docking ring as the remaining fuel supplies for the shuttles detonated, followed by a second set of explosions as the Trolls burned their way into the station’s core. The UN had built the base to stand up to multiple nuclear strikes, but the planners hadn't anticipated the Trolls. Davidson made a mental note to ensure that the next generation of fleet bases were better-shielded, before laughing at himself. There was no way that any message from him would reach the Admiralty on Luna.

Consoles exploded as power flooded through the command network, followed rapidly by a final series of explosions that devastated the interior of the base. Davidson was thrown to the deck by one explosion, only to hear the sound of air whistling out of the base, just before the world went white around him. His last thought, before he died, was that the Trolls wouldn't be able to pull anything from the base’s computers...

***​

“Your friend will be spending the trip in the brig,” Vice Admiral Howard said. Hind nodded, in some relief. Luckily, the Marines had seen her groper before she had kneed him in the groin. “I’m sorry about the delay, but...”

“You had more important things on your mind,” Hind said. 9th Fleet had escaped Capricorn and was now waiting, according to the Admiral, for the final report from observation starships that had been emplaced in the Capricorn system. And then it would start the long lonely voyage to New Brisbane. Hind would have to write her own report on the final hours of Capricorn Base before the fleet started jumping home, but she felt too dirty and soiled to do anything, apart from showering. If there was a shower. Her quarters were shared with six other women from the base. “I’d ask for an interview...”

Howard shook his head. “Not now,” he said, flatly. “I have too much else to do right now. I dare say that there will be time as we start jumping to New Brisbane.”

He looked down at his desk. “I think you’d better make it clear to the public that nothing short of a total effort will defeat the Trolls,” he added. “Right now, they have the whip hand and we expect that they will use it. They could raid a hundred worlds now that Capricorn has been destroyed and we would be unable to stop them.”

“I understand,” Hind said.

The Admiral’s communicator buzzed. “Admiral, the pickets have just returned to the fleet,” it said. “Capricorn Base has been destroyed with all hands.”

“Download the records and then start the fleet jumping to New Brisbane,” Howard ordered. “Thank you for your time, but...”

Hind nodded, recognising the dismissal. “I’ll hold you to that interview promise later,” she said, as she stood up. “Good luck, Admiral.”

Outside, the Marine guard nodded politely to her as she walked down the corridor and through the hatch that separated Officer County from the rest of the carrier. Like the rest of the ship, it was crammed with people; several of the wider decks had even been turned into makeshift cabins for refugees. Everywhere she looked, she could see signs of misery and fear, of people who had been forced to flee their homeworlds for an uncertain destination. And it would get worse as the inner worlds were evacuated, she knew. Millions of humans would be on the move, heading they knew not where.

Ever since Second Cadiz, she had realised that defeat was a very real proposition, but now it came home to her with an immediacy she hadn't felt earlier. This wasn't the Magana War, or the Sutra Intervention, this was something different, something almost primal. To lose would mean the end of everything.