Authors: Christopher Nuttall
Space twisted in front of them as they dived into hyperspace. For a moment, Jason actually thought that the Federation warship would try to make it through the portal before it closed, then the portal snapped out of existence. It was rare for any starship to try to enter a portal opened by another ship; it was risky enough when starfighters did it, when their mothership launched them while they were in hyperspace. If the Federation Captain had tried ...
“Drop the static bomb,” he ordered. “And then set course for Ida.”
***
“Take us after them,” Glen snapped. Jumping into hyperspace in hot pursuit was risky, but he was damned if he was letting the bastards get away that easily.
Besides, if they came after them quickly enough, they wouldn't have time to use a static bomb to cover their tracks. “Open a portal and take us in.”
“Aye, sir,” Helena said. The portal blossomed to life in front of them, sucking the starship into hyperspace. “Transit complete ...
hellfire
!”
Glen swallowed his own curse. Hyperspace rolled and seethed around them, suggesting that the enemy starship had triggered a static bomb. It wouldn't cause any real damage, he hoped, but it would make pursuit almost impossible. There was no way they could track the enemy craft – any enemy craft – in the midst of the storm. All they could do was return to normal space and wait for it to recede.
“Take us back,” he ordered, tiredly. They’d failed. The enemy had carried out their attack, butchered God alone knew how many humans and aliens, then escaped without taking a single casualty. “Stand down from red alert, then prep the medics for immediate deployment.”
He gritted his teeth as
Dauntless
returned to normal space. There was no way to hide their failure, even if he had been inclined to try. The Governor would accuse the colonials of carrying out the attack, even though hundreds of their own people had been slaughtered; the colonials would demand that the Federation Navy actually did something to help. He’d hoped that
Dauntless’s
arrival would help the situation, but instead it had made it worse.
Given what they did on Tyson’s Rest, they may even have planned to retreat before we arrived
, he thought, sourly.
We might not have chased them away at all
.
“No further enemy contacts detected,” Cooke reported. “
Independence
concurs. They all fled.”
“And they got away completely,” Sandy’s voice muttered, over the command link. “Not even a scratch on their hull.”
Glen frowned. Forcing a fleet to give battle wasn't easy; the Dragons had launched their two drives on Earth in hopes of pushing the Federation Navy to stand and fight. As long as the enemy kept their portal generators in readiness, they could jump out as soon as
Dauntless
or the Colonial Militia arrived. It was frustrating to know that they could beat the enemy, if only they could trap them ...
“We’ll catch them,” he said. “For the moment, we have to concentrate on helping people.”
“There’s nothing we can do for the Dragons,” Sandy reminded him. “Their island was nuked.”
Glen swore out loud as he saw the detailed sensor readings. The entire island had been scorched clean of life, leaving only radioactive debris where the refugee camp had once stood. God knew that the planetary authorities wouldn't be able to clean up the mess, not without assistance from outside the star system. And somehow he doubted that the colonies would be able to provide the help. The entire island might have to be sealed off completely, at least until a decontamination team could be spared.
“Get in touch with the planetary government,” he ordered, tiredly. “Find out what they need that we can provide, then provide it.”
He stood, addressing the bridge crew. “Well done, all of you,” he said.
Dauntless
had performed well for her first real test, even if they hadn't managed to fire a single shot before the enemy had retreated. Next time, he promised himself, there would be a reckoning. “Stand down from red alert.”
Leaving Cooke in command of the bridge, he walked into his office and sat at the desk, trying to compose his report. The Governor would definitely not be pleased when she heard the news; if nothing else, the colonials would be even less inclined to listen to her when it became clear that the Federation Navy had failed to protect the world below. And the Admiralty would not be pleased either. Those without combat experience would suggest that only incompetence had allowed the enemy to escape.
“We have to get ahead of them, somehow,” he told himself. “But how?”
He scowled. Two worlds had been targeted – and both attacks had been centred on alien refugee camps. Logically, all other alien refugee camps had to be considered potential targets. There were thirty-one camps in the sector, giving them poor odds of getting the right camp if they tried to lay an ambush. Blanketing them all with enough starships to stand off the enemy squadron would not be easy. The Colonial Militia would not strip the human worlds of defenders just to protect aliens, while it would take weeks for reinforcements to arrive from Bottleneck.
And there wouldn't be enough starships at Bottleneck to cover them all
, he thought.
Not unless they were reinforced
.
“Look for the pattern,” he said. “Unless they're complete psychopaths ...”
The pattern was clear the moment he looked at the list of targeted worlds. Both of the attacked worlds were on the list of planets – of refugee camps – the governor intended to help. She'd marked down six for her direct assistance, worlds that were unable or unwilling to provide the level of support the aliens required. Two of the six would no longer need to feed the aliens now; they’d barely be able to feed themselves. That gave the enemy four more possible targets ... assuming they stuck with the pattern, of course. Four targets would be easier to manage than thirty-one.
But he knew better than to assume they would stay with the pattern. Every tactical manual in the Federation warned its readers against becoming predicable. The next target would, perhaps, not be on the governor’s list. That brought the list of potential targets back up to twenty-nine ...
“If they wanted to slaughter aliens,” he said, out loud, “they didn't have to wait for us to arrive ...”
He grinned, suddenly, as he realised what was missing. The Governor hadn't told anyone, apart from a handful of colonial politicians, which worlds she intended to visit.
Dauntless
hadn't filed a flight plan with the Colonial Militia ... he rocked back in his chair as he realised the possible implications.
Independence
might be covertly monitoring their progress and relaying targeting data to the raiders. Even if that wasn't true, the Governor would definitely jump to the conclusion that there was a leak somewhere in the colonies.
His intercom buzzed. “Captain,” Sandy’s voice said, “the planetary government has requested that we deploy Marines as well as medics. They need help keeping order.”
They must be desperate, Glen realised. Federation Marines were hardly Dragon stormtroopers, but they were outsiders. Even colonial troops would be considered outsiders on a colony world. Inserting them into the situation, even at the request of the local government, risked setting off an explosion. But he’d already promised himself that he would do everything he could to help.
“Check the ROE, then deploy the Marines,” he ordered, finally. “We will operate under the government’s regulations.”
“Understood,” Sandy said.
Glen scowled down at his desk, then paged Cynthia. Intelligence would have to be informed that there was a possible leak, but ... he felt his scowl deepen. Cynthia would accuse Sandy and anyone else with colonial ties, no matter how weak or insignificant. The witch-hunts for Dragon spies had been bad enough; thankfully, the Dragons had never been very good at intelligence-gathering. Looking for colonial spies – or even sympathisers – might tear the TFN apart.
“I need to talk to you,” he ordered, when she answered. “Come to my office, now.”
***
The attack pattern was precisely the same as the one the raiders had followed on Tyson’s Rest, Sandy noted, as the shuttles came into land. Government buildings, military bases, communications centres ... everywhere that could help keep order after the attack had been ruthlessly blasted from orbit. The population still seemed largely stunned, although she’d picked up messages suggesting that there was looting and rioting in some parts of the city. Lumpur was old enough to lack the social cohesion of Landing City on Tyson’s Rest.
Instead of pulling together, the population was turning on itself.
She braced herself as the shuttle settled down on the grassy park. It wasn't an ideal landing zone, but the Marines had landed on worse. As soon as the shuttle had touched down, the Marines scrambled out and took up defensive positions, carrying stunners rather than their heavy assault rifles. The local government ROE were, it seemed, very lax. Sandy had made it clear to Jess, who had made it clear to her people, that lethal force was to be used as the very last resort. The media would quite happily take a single incident and blow it out of all proportion.
“All deployed,” Jess reported, as the Marines fanned out. “Where is our liaison officer?”
Sandy shrugged. The local government seemed to be hanging by a thread. Clearly, they'd had at least one bunker that had remained undiscovered by the raiders, but most of their communications were gone. She looked over at the remains of the Presidential Palace and shuddered. The ruins were still smouldering after the strike. If the President had been in there at the time, he was dead. It was highly unlikely that there were any survivors.
“Hey,” a voice called. Sandy turned to see a young man wearing a militia uniform. “You the Marines?”
No, we’re the Dragons
, Sandy thought. She didn't say it out loud. The militia command network had to have been shattered too, leaving junior officers in command – if, of course, their units hadn't disintegrated when the planet had been attacked. In her experience, planetary militia formations were always a mixed bag, even in the colonies. And this world had actually been invaded and ground under by the Dragons. It was a marvel that they’d managed to rebuild as much as they had.
“Yes, we’re the Marines,” she said, quietly ignoring the fact she
wasn't
a Marine. Jess chuckled faintly through the communications link. “Where do you want us to go?”
The next hour proved nightmarish. Lumpur’s population was larger than Landing City’s and the number of dead or wounded were consequently higher. The hospitals hadn't been targeted deliberately, but they were utterly overwhelmed by the sheer weight of casualties, forcing them to conscript people from the streets and press them into service as orderlies. A number of doctors seemed to have gone missing or simply couldn't make their way to the hospitals. It was all a ghastly mess.
Sandy tried to speak with the local government, but the sole surviving senior official seemed completely overwhelmed by the crisis. He kept muttering about investment, as if it mattered in the aftermath of the attack. Sandy couldn't blame him for being shocked, but there was no
time
. He was the man in charge, even if he’d never expected to be promoted to supreme power. Her father would probably have shot him by now.
Instead, she found herself helping in the nearest hospital. The mood of the crowd outside was ugly, despite their shock; if it hadn't been for the armoured Marines, Sandy suspected that there would have been a riot. She’d seen people hurt before, in fighting or even training, but this was different. This was as horrific as the sights she’d seen during the war. She caught sight of a young boy who would be lucky to ever walk again, unless he received expensive regeneration treatment. It was unlikely to be available in time to save his life.
“Put him in stasis,” Doctor Foster ordered. “We will have to keep him frozen until we can treat him properly.”
There was no alternative, Sandy knew. But she wondered if there was a stasis pod left on the entire planet. The people responsible for the attack, whoever they were, had to be stopped before they blighted many more young lives. And yet, she knew it would be hard to find them. They had the entire sector to hide in, including the lawless regions along the borderline. As long as they took care, they could ensure that they were never found.