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Ted glared down at the display. “We stole their weapon ideas,” he snapped. In hindsight, it was terrifyingly obvious. “Why can’t they steal ours?”

The aliens were innovative, he knew that for sure. And they were paranoid over what humanity might have pulled from intact technology… not entirely without reason. And there was nothing particularly innovative about bomb-pumped lasers. The aliens might have captured a working model at New Russia or simply designed the concept themselves, back before they’d developed plasma weapons. Maybe the delay in reacting to the attack on Target One had been to ensure that squadrons outfitted with the latest weapons were in place to attack Ted’s fleet.

Another thought struck him and he swore. “The mystery craft are boarding pods,” he added, bitterly. He’d used Royal Marines to board an alien craft. Why couldn’t the aliens try the same themselves? “They’re planning to board us!”

He braced himself as the point defence went to work. Five alien missiles were picked off, nine alien missiles… but three remained. Only three… yet if they were bomb-pumped lasers, one of them would be enough to do serious damage. It was impossible to tell which sections they were targeting, but it might not matter. Ted cursed inwardly as the missiles entered engagement range and…

Ark Royal shook violently as the laser beams stabbed into her hull.

Chapter Thirty-One

James had barely a second to brace himself before his ship shook violently. Red icons flared up on the display, then the entire display blanked out as power failed throughout entire sections of the starship. Panic gibbered at the corner of his mind for a long terrifying second, before the system rebooted itself as the computer network rerouted around the damaged sections. But the updates from the damaged parts of his ship brought him no relief.

“Major damage,” Anderson’s voice snapped in his head. “They’ve blown right through our armour in sections…”

James barely heard him. “Order the CSP to cover the damaged section,” he ordered, sharply. Did they even have communications with the starfighters any longer? “I want the aliens kept away from the gash in our hull.”

He gritted his teeth as more reports flowed into the bridge. It was sheer luck, he realised, that the aliens hadn’t managed to hit something vital, something that would explode under the impact and set off a chain reaction that would have destroyed the carrier. As it was, she would still have to spend months in the shipyard having her armour replaced and a great many other systems repaired. Or simply modernised, now they no longer had to worry about removing the armoured hull. If, of course, they made it home.

“Captain,” the Admiral said, “this may be just the beginning.”

James almost snarled at him. The aliens had tested a new/old concept and discovered it worked. They’d be back, all right, with the same weapons humanity believed had rendered carriers like the Old Lady obsolete. And the Old Lady would die countless light years from home.

“They may be trying to board us,” the Admiral continued. “They’re going to want to take us by force, if they can.”

“We did it to them,” James said. Turnabout is fair play, part of his mind whispered. But Admiral Smith’s demented plan had been the result of sheer desperation. Were the aliens just as desperate as humanity to put an end to the war? “I understand, sir.”

“I’m warning Shallcross that he might have to assume tactical command,” the Admiral said. “But if we can hold out for a while longer, we might win the first part of the engagement.”

James scowled. They’d given Force One a beating it would never forget, but Force Two was still out there — and completely undamaged. Maybe the aliens would forget their careful plan and just aim Force Two at the remains of Task Force Nelson. Combined, the two alien fleets would soon make mincemeat of the human ships.

He pushed the thought aside. There was no time to worry about it.

“Security alert, all decks,” he ordered. A check of the display revealed that half of the internal security monitors were gone. “And get the starfighters to make a visual check of our hull.”

* * *

Senior Crewwoman Nancy Cortland picked herself up from the deck and stared around her, convinced — for a long chilling moment — that she was in hell. A minute ago, or perhaps longer if she’d blacked out, she’d been working in her compartment, helping to maintain the starship’s colossal missile tubes. Now, the main lights were out, the only source of illumination was the dim emergency lights — half of which seemed to have failed — and, in the distance, she could hear the faint hiss of escaping air. Somehow, she managed to stagger over to the emergency supplies and retrieve a mask, which she held in one hand as she walked towards the hatch. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised to discover that it was half open.

Outside, the corridors were still dim. A body lay on the deck, staring up at nothing. Nancy checked it quickly and identified the corpse as Derek MacDonald, a loud and somewhat overbearing crewman who seemed to challenge every newcomer until they proved themselves worthy of a place on the Old Lady’s crew. He’d been just as challenging to Nancy until the first battle; in hindsight, she’d learned that he’d been part of the crew when only the dregs of the service were assigned to the ship.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, as she closed his eyes. The sound of escaping air was growing louder, although she still seemed to be able to breathe without problems. “I’m sorry.”

She reached for her communicator as it dawned on her that someone should have tried to contact her and everyone else in the damaged compartment. But there was no one… and no missed messages. Was the entire network down? Or was she just locked out of the system for some reason? There was no way to know. Bracing herself, she rose back to her feet and started to move towards the sound of escaping air. It was her duty to try to seal the leak, then report in to higher authority.

Ahead of her, the corridors suddenly became mangled and melted, as if someone had blasted a pulse of intense heat through the compartment. A dozen bodies lay on the deck, some so badly damaged that she couldn’t identify them; she shuddered as she realised that there might be others who had been completely vaporised. She jumped suddenly as she heard someone moving ahead of her in the darkness, then leaned forward, confident that she was about to meet another survivor. Instead, she found herself looking into the face of an alien.

For a long moment, she refused to believe her eyes. The ship couldn’t have been boarded, could it? But then the alien lifted a weapon and pointed it right between her eyes. Nancy froze, smelling — for the first time — a hint of something fishy, then tried to duck back out of sight. It was too late. There was a flash of bright green light, then nothing but darkness.

* * *

“We’ve definitely got unwanted guests,” James muttered. The security reports from a handful of crewmen, several of whom hadn’t reported in since, were impossible to misinterpret. He cursed the timing under his breath. Half of the Royal Marines who should have been onboard were on Target One, no doubt utterly unaware of the fleet’s desperate struggle for survival. “Captain, can you and your men handle them?”

“We believe so,” Captain Greenfield assured him. Technically, he was Royal Marine Reserve, but James hadn’t heard any complaints from Major Parnell about Greenfield and his company of reservists. The Royal Marines worked reservists to the bone just to make sure they were up to scratch when the shit hit the fan. “But you might want to evacuate the boarded sections, just in case.”

“Understood,” James said. He cursed again; deliberately or otherwise, the aliens were holding parts of his ship that desperately needed repair. The only upside was that if the alien starfighters decided to try to pour fire into the gash in the hull, they’d be killing their own people as well as human survivors. “Get rid of them as quickly as possible.”