“Kapitan Stein,” Bradamont sent, “cancel your previous orders to join up with us. You are to instead close on and shadow the Syndicate flotilla that arrived at the hypernet gate. If you have the opportunity to hit part of that flotilla without risking your entire force, do so, but avoid a straight-up engagement that might wipe out both that flotilla and your own formation. As long as you are close enough to hit them, that Syndicate force will have to spend its time worrying about what you’ll do rather than pursuing its own mission.”
She paused before ending the call, then decided what to say. “To the honor of our ancestors and for the people of Midway, Bradamont, out.”
That new ending phrase, combining that of the Alliance and of these men and women from Midway, got her approving looks from the crew members on the bridge and a surprised smile from Kapitan Diaz. “You’re becoming one of us, Captain!” he said. Then the smile faded, and Diaz nodded toward his display. “What will we do?”
“Keep them busy, Kapitan,” Bradamont said. “Repeated firing passes. They’ll keep trying to arrange those passes to hit us hard with all of their advantage in numbers, and we’ll keep dodging their attacks and trying to hit portions of their formation with everything that we’ve got. We need to wear them down and keep them busy.”
“I understand and—” Diaz broke off the old Syndic reply to an order and gave her a glance. “Yes, Captain.”
She nodded firmly back at him. Bradamont knew Diaz well enough by this time to know that he realized how hard their task would be. Kapitan Stein could afford to make a few mistakes because the Syndicate flotilla from the hypernet gate roughly equaled her own force. But the Syndicate flotilla that she and Diaz were dealing with had enough superiority in numbers that a single mistake might result in a disastrous encounter.
And there would be far too many opportunities for such a mistake over the next few days as Midway’s forces tried to wear down the Syndicate attackers.
Colonel Rogero watched from a distance as carefully placed explosive charges toppled large rocks into the massive hole that was the exit hatch for enigma warships from their buried base. The rocks, all located near the edge of the hole, tipped over and were gone, plummeting into the dark soup below and vanishing from Rogero’s sensors.
He and numerous scouts had extended whip-antenna-like surveillance probes from the shoulders of their uniforms so they could watch the rocks fall. The probes, limited in their capabilities by small dimensions meant to prevent them from being spotted, should have been able to get a decent look down the hole. But something not far inside that hole was blocking every bandwidth the probes could normally see.
“No reaction,” reported the commander of the combat engineer detachment that had toppled the rocks.
“I noticed,” Rogero replied. The enigmas had shown an extremely impressive ability to spot and almost instantly destroy anything from Rogero’s force that could either attack down the hole or provide any information about what might be beyond that murky shroud of concealment. Using the rocks had been an attempt to see if a volley of useless decoys could divert the attention and the fire of the enigmas enough to get something else down the hole, but the aliens had simply ignored the rocks.
He hoped the rocks would at least break something when they hit the bottom, however far down that was.
His soldiers had been pinned down for several hours now, their numbers being slowly whittled down by the unremitting barrages of the enigmas, which alternated unpredictably between periods of minor harassing fire and shorter but far more intense torrents of incoming weapons. The medics, moving despite the risks, were keeping as many alive and capable as possible, but they couldn’t do miracles.
Rogero ran down the status of his soldiers, studying the data that scrolled past on his helmet display. Everyone was running low on active countermeasures, and other critical elements like power and water were being steadily depleted. The enigmas weren’t showing any signs of suffering from limited supplies, though, especially when it came to expendable munitions. Either they had immense stockpiles in place underground, or they had already set up the means to manufacture replacement weapons at a rate that could sustain these continuing barrages.
“Colonel?” the commander of the engineer unit called. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Are you angling for a promotion or a court-martial?” Rogero asked. This was the sort of situation that called for dark humor.
“Not me, sir,” she denied. “Neither one. The aliens must have a way to close this hatch, but they haven’t done it.”
“Which means?”
“Which means they want to leave it open, and its being open is why we’re here around it, sir.”
He got it. “It’s bait. They left open a huge door, ringed with defenses. And like moths drawn to a flame we’ve been sitting here.”
“Yes, sir. You know I’m no coward, sir, but I think they want us to charge down that hole. I don’t think we should.”
“I was coming to the same conclusion.” Rogero studied his display again. Scouts moving cautiously about the area had failed to spot any other openings into the base. There must be other hatches, there must be vents of some kind, but none had been found. Whatever the enigmas had placed beneath the soil was blocking the scout sensors as effectively as it had the sensors on the troop transport. He couldn’t order the engineers to just dig down at random spots. That would generate enough activity that the enigmas would quickly detect it and destroy the diggers.
His soldiers had finally been able to find and destroy a few of the launchers being used to rain death down on them, but only a few. The enigmas had proven as good at hiding launchers as everything else.
They’re better than us at this, Rogero realized. Or so different that we don’t know how to handle it. I can’t even get into their base to attack it.
He glanced upward again. The battle armor sensors had spotted the destruction of some large ships close enough to the planet that they must have been among those that had landed people here. Were all of the transports already gone? Would there be any pickup if Rogero called for evacuation now?
Space battles took time. He knew that. If the Kommodor beat their many enemies in space, she would come get Rogero and his troops afterward. And staying here in the meanwhile was simply wasting the lives of his soldiers.
Rogero traced out some troop orders on his display, then called all of his unit commanders. “Listen up. We’re going to fall back by sections toward the positions that were occupied by the Syndicate ground forces. We don’t know how many are left or if they are still hostile, but we need to get access to whatever supplies they managed to land. The scouts will continue to screen this hole in case any enigma ground forces issue from it to hit us as we reposition. Everyone else will regress toward the Syndicate ground forces site, firing on Syndicate soldiers only if first fired upon. Accept surrender if it is offered. Any questions? Move!”
Large numbers of soldiers began crawling and scuttling back toward the Syndicate site, while others held position and covered their movement.
The enigmas spotted something and launched another heavy barrage.
Rogero huddled between two substantial rocks, gazing grimly outward. It would take a while to get his soldiers moved between barrages, and then he would have to worry about surviving snakes or terrified Syndicate workers continuing the human war while the aliens lashed at both sides.
At least no flying monkeys had shown up yet.