Charles snorted. “I bet the health and safety lot loved it!”
“Oh, they did,” the Rhino sneered. “They actually wanted to forbid its deployment to the Corps until we actually managed to improve the containment system. But they were overruled, because there’s a war underway and we need every advantage we can get. We’ve also got plasma cannons for deployment to replace antitank missiles and HVMs, but nothing man-portable just yet. We don’t know how the aliens do it.”
Charles nodded, remembering the alien weapons they’d captured from Alien-1 and the battlecruiser. They’d shot bursts of superheated plasma, enough to ensure a kill even if they only brushed their human targets. But humanity couldn’t duplicate the handheld weapons, not yet. It made him wonder just what else the aliens might have up their sleeves, if their technology was so much more advanced. Humanity was catching up, but would it catch up in time?
The Rhino snorted, again. “In any case, I will be leading the assault down to the ground, assuming there actually is an assault,” he said. “Once we take the ground, we will set up defences and wait for the aliens to come to us. We’ll give them quite a few nasty surprises when they do. If the fleet has to leave, we can still hold the planet.”
“They’ll just fry you from orbit,” Charles protested. Standard doctrine insisted that whoever ruled the high orbitals ruled the planet. It was certainly true that wrecker bases in the failed states in Africa and the Middle East were obliterated without warning, either by American or European military forces. “You’ll lose everyone.”
“Hardly,” the Rhino said. He nodded towards a handful of other plasma cannons. “We should be able to hold out for a time.”
He shrugged, mightily. “It all depends on the exact situation, of course,” he added. “At worst, we’ll merely loot their settlements and then fall back.”
Charles nodded. They’d been briefed extensively on the importance of recovering alien books as well as computers, something that might help the scientists unlock the secrets behind how the aliens communicated. The alien computers might have yielded some data, but nothing that would allow humans to actually talk to them. He’d been told that if they recovered something that served as a key to unlock the alien language there would be promotions all around. The scientists had to be getting desperate.
Maybe they think the aliens are just misunderstood, he thought. And they want to prove it before it’s too late.
“Their settlements may well be underwater,” Charles said. The aliens on Alien-1 had certainly been based underwater — and it was clear the aliens didn’t need to surface to breathe. “Can you handle that?”
“We have over two thousand armoured Marines,” the Rhino assured him. “We can certainly probe into their underwater domains, even if we can’t hold them permanently. But I’m rather hoping there will be a large underwater population.”
Charles blinked. “You are?”
“There might well be civilians there too,” the Rhino said. “Perhaps they can actually talk to us.”
“Maybe,” Charles said. The aliens they’d captured might have been military personnel — or they might have been civilian scientists. Without any way to actually talk to them it was impossible to tell. “But we should be very careful. So far, the aliens have largely refrained from atrocities.”
“True,” the Rhino said. He looked pensive for a long moment. “What does it say about us, Charles, when a bunch of aliens are more honourable foes than half of humanity?”
“They’re pragmatic,” Charles said. “They go after our worlds, we go after their worlds and both races lose billions of people. But if they win the war, they can commit genocide afterwards at leisure — or simply keep us trapped on the ground. Maybe they just don’t want us expanding any further, so they started the war.”
The Rhino shrugged and slapped him on the back. “It doesn’t matter why they started the war,” he said. “All that matters is winning it.”
He paused, then produced a sheet of paper from his belt. “Now, training schedules,” he said, briskly. “The Russians and Chinese have sent ground forces, as have the French. You’ll be taking part in the briefings, I assume?”
Charles nodded. As one of the few officers to actually set foot on an alien world, his insights would be invaluable. But they’d never seen a major alien world. The intelligence officers had warred over the question of just how many defences the aliens would construct around a world they had to defend. Would they have major ground-based plasma cannons, capable of engaging ships in orbit, or would they prefer to station weapons in orbit? There were strong cases for both arguments and everywhere in between.
“It will be my pleasure,” Charles said. He was looking forward to working with the Rhino again, even though he’d never met the other commanding officers. “Shall we go?”
“So you forgot your uniform trousers and one of your bras,” Kurt said. The rook — a pilot who reminded him uncomfortably of Penny — flushed bright red. “You’ll be pleased to know that the supply officer can and will provide, but your salary is deducted one hundred pounds to pay for it.”
The pilot winced as the other rooks sniggered. Kurt felt a flicker of sympathy which he ruthlessly suppressed. Attention to detail was important in flying — a pilot who forgot her uniform one day might forget to check her weapons and flying systems before launch the next. One hundred pounds was steep — the Royal Navy had a very good deal with its suppliers — but it would teach her a lesson. Besides, the remainder would be poured into the squadron R&R fund.
He turned his attention to the next pilot, who’d been snickering uncontrollably. “Perhaps you would like to explain, rook, precisely why you failed to pack both of your shirts?”
The rook stopped laughing. “I…”
“Let me guess,” Kurt said, cutting him off. “You thought you could avoid wearing a shirt and pack something else instead?”
He sighed. The excuse had been popular during his training and probably dated far further back than the human race had been flying in space. But it was still stupid.
“You’ll be charged seventy-five pounds,” Kurt informed him, sternly. “And what did you pack in their place?”
“Nothing,” the rook said. “I…”
Kurt glowered at him, then allowed his voice to become mocking. “You didn’t even manage to smuggle a naughty outfit onboard?”
He moved onto Charles Augustus, who was standing beside his bunk, and checked the terminal. Augustus didn’t seem to have reported anything to the supply officer, which suggested he’d actually managed to pack his bag properly or he’d tried to avoid reporting anything missing in the hopes it would be missed in the inspection. Kurt motioned for the young man to open his bag, then checked everything against the master list. Nothing seemed to be missing, nor was there anything illicit. It was suspiciously perfect.
“You seem to have managed to pack,” Kurt growled. “And how did you do it without being taught?”
“I asked one of the older pilots,” Augustus said. He held Kurt’s eyes without flinching, which was interesting. No matter how confident pilots were, rooks rarely stood up to their superiors. “He taught me how to do it, then warned me to be careful I didn’t miss anything.”
“Good for him,” Kurt said.
He moved on to the next pilot, then the next. Three more were missing essential items, two of them had brought other items of clothing with them, despite being told it was against regulations. He could see the impulse to bring sexy underwear, even though relations between pilots in the same squadrons were strictly forbidden, but what sort of idiot would feel that a complete set of civilian clothes were suitable? They were hardly going to attend a coming-out ball in the heart of London.