“Sir,” Maxwell called, “I have their overhead drone in my sights.”
Chris nodded. No one was entirely sure just how capable the alien drones were, but the Americans had designed and produced fantastically capable platforms before the invasion, ones capable of tracking individual fighters and dropping Hellfire missiles on their heads. He had to assume that the aliens were just as capable, even though they didn’t seem to be designed to operate in a threatening environment. But then, few Taliban fighters had ever had working Stingers. The briefers had commented that possessing such a weapon would make someone a Big Man — and if they fired the missile, they wouldn’t have the weapon any more, would they? It had struck Chris as absurd, but they had clearly had a point. The aliens, facing people less concerned with their tribal status, had lost a number of drones to handheld missile launchers since the invasion had begun. But why hadn’t they started to take better precautions?
He looked back towards the alien tanks. They’d be within engagement range in a matter of seconds and they all had to be taken out quickly, or they’d be lethal once they realised that they were under attack. Their main guns would be useless against insurgents, but they all carried heavy machine guns and their armour could stand off bullets and even grenades. The gangs in London, according to the internet, had thrown petrol bombs at the aliens, but the alien tanks had simply shrugged the blows off and kept on coming. Their soft-shelled vehicles were easier to disable or destroy.
“Fire,” he barked.
Maxwell launched his Stinger upwards towards the alien drone, while the antitank teams fired on the alien tanks. Chris saw a flash in the sky from where the drone had been hit, moments before four of the alien tanks exploded. The fifth ground to a halt and sank to the ground — the rocket had struck the underside of its carriage — but returned fire with its machine guns. Chris cursed as two of the antitank teams were wiped out before they could fall back, while the remaining alien vehicles slowed down and started deploying their troopers. He watched the alien shapes emerging from cover and swore again. They were going to be on him faster than he had planned.
“Fall back,” he ordered, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of the tank’s guns. The aliens seemed to be shooting at random, raking the ground near their position. He wasn’t sure if they were having targeting problems or if they were just trying to keep the humans pinned down. “Fall back to the next line.”
Crawling through mud wasn’t fun, but it beat being shot in the back by alien machine guns. The second set of surprises had been positioned along the route they assumed the aliens would come, yet the aliens had managed to get there before it was quite ready for action. He slipped down into the half-dug trench — any protection was welcome on a battlefield — and grasped his rifle, looking for targets. The alien infantry were still advancing, more carefully now that their tank was no longer providing cover. Chris wondered what was going through their minds, before realising that it probably wouldn’t be that different to what went through his mind when he advanced on an enemy position.
He glanced upwards and cursed as he saw a trio of alien aircraft roaring overhead. The aliens didn’t deploy aircraft with the same enthusiasm as NATO had — they could drop rocks from orbit — and seeing them now was a surprise. They swept low over the ruined base, firing rockets at anything that looked remotely dangerous. Chris saw an explosion billow up from where two of the Royal Marines had been positioned and knew that they were both death. A Stinger chased one of the alien aircraft as it headed into the distance before coming around for another run, but the aliens dropped flares and the missile, decoyed away, exploded harmlessly.
“Grenades, then run,” he yelled, unhooking the last of his grenades from his belt and pulling the pin, before throwing it right into the alien position. The others followed suit, and then started to crawl away, using the explosions to cover their departure. Unless the aliens got very lucky and guessed that they were starting to retreat, they should hesitate long enough to allow the fighters to lose them. He reached for his radio and keyed it once, sending a simple message to the other two positions, and then abandoned it. The aliens would zero in on its position and drop a bomb on him.
The grenades shook the ground as they scrambled away, keeping their heads down. Outside the detention camp, they’d had a chance to scope out possible ways to retreat, including two that led through villages the aliens had ordered abandoned by their human residents. There was plenty of cover for resistance traps and they’d set up several IEDs, enough to keep the aliens carefully sweeping for more while the fighters made their escape. Several men had volunteered to make a last stand in the houses, but Chris had vetoed the idea. They needed every man they could get and futile stands would only cost them lives for nothing. The aliens could simply fall back and hammer the houses from orbit.
He heard the sound of alien aircraft overhead and instinctively sought cover. The ground shook a moment later, a colossal explosion that sent a fireball roaring into the air. God alone knew who or what the aliens had seen, but they’d certainly killed it. He kept moving, knowing that there was no longer any point in trying to fight. They’d split up into smaller groups and meet up again at the RV point.
There was a brief burst of firing, not too far away, followed by silence. Chris wondered briefly what had happened, but it hardly mattered. Assuming that the aliens believed that their men were still in danger, they would have gone to liberate the camp first and then give chase to the resistance fighters. Or perhaps they would simply drop rocks from orbit on the deserted villages, hoping to trap some of the resistance fighters in the blasts. It struck Chris as excessive, but the aliens probably regarded it as efficient. But then, they’d never know for sure how many they’d killed.
Shaking his head, he kept moving. There was a long way to go before he could relax and start heading towards the base. He’d have to be careful that he wasn’t followed, either. The aliens might be holding back deliberately, hoping that he would lead them to a base. That was the last thing the resistance needed.
U’tra The’Stig knew that he wasn’t supposed to lead relief missions in person, but many of his subordinates were either inexperienced in fighting humans or too low-ranking to be given overall command responsibilities. With the new access his promotion had granted him, it was alarmingly easy to see just how badly the humans had mauled the Land Forces — and caused them to bring in reinforcements earlier than the planners had expected. The humans might not be the most advanced race the State had ever encountered, but they were certainly the most stubborn. A sensible race would have started seeing what niche it could carve out for itself in the State by now.
The detention camp had been devastated. They’d blown through the gate, despite the blast walls that were supposed to prevent anyone from getting in without permission, and somehow secured much of the base long enough to cut through the cages and release the prisoners. Most of them would have been in no state for running, but they wouldn’t have been given much of a choice. Even so, he could see a number of dead humans who clearly weren’t insurgents, unless the insurgents had decided to fight while naked. The prisoners had been shot down in the crossfire, probably by their guards.
He watched as the remains of the base’s garrison stumbled out of their barracks. At least they’d managed to hold out — although he had a feeling that they’d been left alive deliberately, if only to prevent higher authority from cutting their losses and dropping rocks on what remained of the base. The superior officer, an intelligence officer, came over and glared at The’Stig, before snarling orders for him to track down and kill the human insurgents. The’Stig tapped his badge, a droll reminder that he actually outranked the intelligence officer, and waited for him to calm down.