“They’re rebuilding their sensors,” Tom reported. “I…”
His voice disappeared with a sudden, terrible finality. Kurt risked a glance at the datanet and saw that Tom had been hit, blotted out of existence in a split second. He heard Gladys gasp in shock, then bring herself back under control. She wanted revenge, but at least she could hold it back enough to keep flying in unison with the remaining pilots.
This, a voice said at the back of his head, is why starfighter pilots should not develop relationships with one another.
“Damn it,” he muttered. Out loud, he barked orders. “Regroup and attack; I say again, regroup and attack.”
“The launch tube is going to need a complete refurbishment,” Anderson reported. “I’ve given orders to evacuate the section, sir; there’s no point in leaving anyone there.”
“Understood,” Ted said, absently. On the display, the alien ship was slowly turning back towards the tramline. They couldn't be allowed to run, but he didn't have any way to stop them without destroying the systems he needed to capture. “Keep me informed.”
He closed the channel, then looked over at the display. The Marines were drawing closer to their target. Close enough to board… and to be detected.
Charles braced himself as the alien craft came closer, its hull shining faintly with scars from the EMP strike. They must have suffered local power overloads and explosions, he guessed, which had damaged the superconductor hull. It was funny, he thought, just how a strength could so easily become a weakness, under the right circumstances. But there was no longer any time to think…
An alarm sounded. “They have us,” the pilot snapped. “Launching flares, now!”
Charles braced himself as the shuttle jerked, then accelerated towards the alien hull. The aliens might have mistaken them for missiles, or they might have realised what the humans actually had in mind, but it was too late. Between the shuttle’s erratic courses and the disruptive flares — actually, tiny drones intended to create false sensor readings — the aliens would have real difficulty tracking them properly.
A red icon flared on the display briefly, then faded. Charles felt a wrench as Shuttle Three vanished from the display, picked off by the alien blast. Fifteen Marines vaporised in a split second, he told himself, then pushed the grief and rage out of his mind. There was no time to mourn the dead now. Afterwards, if they survived, they would hold a proper funeral for the lost men.
The alien hull loomed up in front of them, then glowed white as the shuttle’s drives flared, burning through the alien metal. Charles allowed himself a tight smile, imagining the carnage inside the alien ship. Ark Royal’s armour would have melted under a fusion light, he knew; the alien hull, whatever it was, didn't seem to be anything like as resistant. The Marines braced themselves, ran one final check on their armour, and then scrambled to their feet as the shuttle came to rest. Outside, the alien ship was waiting…
And how much, he asked himself suddenly, will the ship be worth in prize money?
“Deploy probes,” he ordered. It had been a long time since he’d plunged into the unknown — even terrorist or insurgent bases were scoped out carefully before the Marines moved in - but he was looking forward to the challenge. “And then follow me.”
“Four of the shuttles made it, sir,” Farley reported.
Ted grimaced. Two shuttles were gone, then; one lost to point defence, one lost to unknown causes. They’d have to replay the sensor records piece by piece to find out what had actually happened, he knew, which would take hours. He wouldn't know until after the battle.
“Good,” he said. He looked over at the helmsman. “Pull us back.”
“Aye, sir,” Lightbridge said. Ark Royal felt uncomfortably sluggish as she moved, slowly, away from the alien craft. On the display, the starfighters pulled back too. There was nothing further they could do to help the Marines. “Two minutes to minimum safe range.”
If they’re right about the weapon’s range, Ted thought.
He looked down at the final damage reports, then resigned himself to waiting — again. They thought they’d taken out the alien cannon, but if they were wrong… the bastards wouldn’t get another shot at his ship. But they were almost defenceless now… quite apart from the damage to the sensor network, their missiles were completely expended.
Pushing his thoughts aside, he forced himself to watch…
…And wait.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Charles hadn't been sure what to expect when they plunged into the alien ship. There had been no way to train for the mission, nor had they had any data to use in training simulations, not when the ships they’d examined after the first battle had been shattered by Ark Royal. All they could do was improvise — and pray that the aliens didn't manage to blow the ship before they were wiped out or captured.
Tiny nanoprobes raced ahead of the Marines, rapidly sending back data to the shared combat datanet. Charles expected to see hunter-killer probes deployed in response — it was the standard human procedure — but none of the nanoprobes vanished from the display. Instead, they rapidly started to map out the interior of the ship, updating the HUD with notes on alien positions and internal environment. The atmosphere was breathable, they noted, but hot and moist enough to make most humans sweaty and uncomfortable. Charles noted it in passing — the Marines wore battlesuits, allowing them to ignore the local environment — as they slipped through a gash in the hull. A scene from hell greeted them.
Atmosphere — the water droplets already freezing to ice — streamed past the Marines as they entered the alien ship. The fusion flame had melted metal into molten streams of liquid, which were cooling rapidly now the flame was gone. Even so, the interior of the alien ship looked like a melted honeycomb, with decks destroyed or warped into something unusable by human or alien. The gravity field caught them as they pressed onwards, the stream of atmosphere coming to an end. Their safety precautions must have finally taken effect, Charles noted inwardly. The aliens designers, like humanity’s designers, clearly believed in devising hulls so compromised sections could be sealed off at a moment’s notice.
They saw their first alien body as they made their way down towards the closest airlock the nanoprobes could identify. Charles was no stranger to horror — nothing the aliens had done matched the horrors humans had inflicted on other humans — but he couldn't help feeling uncomfortable at the sight of an alien torso permanently separated from the lower half of its body. A human would probably have been killed instantly through shock, Charles knew, but would an alien be just as fragile? There was no way to know.
Two Marines attached an atmospheric bubble to the airlock, then went to work with cutting torches. If anything, the alien hull was less resistant than Ark Royal’s armour — although, to be fair, it was an internal airlock. Charles watched the airlock come loose, then motioned for the first Marines to step into the interior of the ship. A swarm of nanoprobes shot past them, racing deeper and deeper into the alien ship. His HUD constantly updated as they mapped out the alien interior.