First Strike (10 page)

Or was the Association more interested in galactic politics than everyone believed? They were an old race, the oldest spacefaring society known to exist. Had they shared all of their technology, or had they kept a few surprises back for the day when the younger races tried to take their remaining worlds? There was no way to know, but the Empress would find out.

“Great Lady,” the human said, in passable Galactic Three. Her – no,
 
his
 
– tone was faintly shaded with an emotion she didn't recognise, but suspected was scorn. “You wish to surrender?”

No
, she thought.

“Yes,” she said. The Hegemony would need her observations of the battle so the Empress could plan their counter-offensive. Whoever had given the humans such technology wouldn’t have very much of it, or they would have struck the homeworld directly. It crossed her mind that they
 
had
 
struck the homeworld and pushed it aside. “I offer you my ship and my submission.”

It was an old ritual, one that had never been extended outside the race. But it was the only one she had. And if the humans refused to accept it...

…The Empress would never know what had happened in the system.

* * *

Tobias studied the alien face, wishing he knew how to read her properly. Even the Association had had problems creating automatic translators that allowed different aliens races to understand one another, let alone follow body language from a thousand different worlds and races. A human shaking his head was saying no; an alien headshake could mean anything from ‘I hate you’ to ‘I want to have sex with you’ – if it meant anything at all. There were races so cold, so emotionless, that they were difficult for humanity to accept and understand.

And the Funk wanted to surrender. Part of him wanted to press the offensive, to wipe her and her fleet out of existence, to avenge Earth’s humiliation in blood. But he’d told his subordinates that he wanted no atrocities. How could he demand that if he ordered an atrocity himself? And it
 
would
 
be an atrocity. There was no sound tactical reason for slaughtering a crew that wanted to surrender. They could take prisoners and interrogate them. A Great Lady would know enough to please even ONI.

“My Marines will be boarding your vessel,” he said, finally. “If there is any resistance, you and your ship will be vaporised. Do not attempt to destroy computer records or kill members of your crew. Do you understand me?”

The alien bowed her head, her crest hanging low. Humanity had studied its most likely opponent for long enough to know that that was
 
supposed
 
to be a sign of surrender, the acceptance of someone else’s incontestable superiority. And yet...it could be an act, one good enough to fool humans who were only outside observers. Aliens were alien, not humans in funny costumes. They always had to bear that in mind.

“I understand,” the alien said.

“And you will order the planetary garrison to surrender,” Tobias added.

The alien looked up, unblinking eyes meeting his. “I have no authority over the garrison,” she said. There was no way to know, but Tobias suspected that she was telling the truth. The Funks didn't believe in united commands, particularly commands that would-be usurpers could use to try to overthrow the Empress. “They will not surrender on my command.”

“I see,” Tobias said. The Marines were already on their way. “Do not attempt to impede my forces taking control of your ship.”

He cut the communications link and looked up at Commander Jackson. “Have the positions of planetary defence sites been plotted?”

“Yes, sir,” Jackson said. “Most of the outlying ones are well away from human populations, but a handful are near major settlements – including the main garrison.”

Tobias nodded. At least the Funks probably wouldn't think of taking hostages as human shields, at least not at first. They showed such a frightening lack of concern about their own civilians that they had problems grasping the fact that humans cared. How long would it be before realising that they could deter orbital bombardment by packing their bases with human children?

But they won’t have the chance
, he told himself.
 
This is the sole major human population under their rule. And we’re going to take it from them.

“Then give the order,” he said. “Deploy the landing force!”

Conrad
 
always
 
got nervous before a drop – he’d read
 
Starship Troopers
 
in school and the book had left a permanent impression, long before humanity had learned how to produce armored combat suits in real life. The assault shuttles were heading right towards Terra Nova, each of them carrying two platoons of armored Marines, their lives dependent upon the skill of the pilots. No one was entirely sure how well defended Terra Nova was; Galactic doctrine called for only placing small forces on a planet’s surface, but the Hegemony had needed to keep the population under control. The intelligence services hadn't been able to get anyone into their bases.

“Entering atmosphere,” the pilot’s voice crackled in his ears. “Prepare for drop.”

He tensed, despite himself. By the time they qualified, Marines had spent hundreds of hours learning how to operate the combat suits, but it would be the first time they jumped into combat on an alien world. There were some things that no amount of training could prepare one for, no matter how detailed the simulations. Even live fire was different when the enemy genuinely intended to kill their targets. A single burst from a plasma cannon intended to shoot down shuttles or aircraft would vaporise the suit and kill him before he even knew what had hit him.

The display in front of him updated rapidly, a dozen screens monitoring the progress of the assault, the status of his Marines and intelligence amassed by the drones and starships in orbit around Terra Nova. Multitasking was difficult – more would-be Marines flunked out through failing to learn to handle their suits than anything else – but he’d learned how to take what information he needed and ignore the rest. Some officers believed that Marines should only have access to some of the data and have the rest doled out by their superiors, yet exercises had shown that sometimes caused problems on the ground. So did the superiors looking down from orbit and trying to dictate orders to the Bootnecks on the ground, bypassing the Marine officers trying to run the show. Conrad suspected that senior officers would one day manage to secure more control for themselves, hopefully long after the human race had secured its place in the universe. Less adaptable tactics would turn the war into a war of attrition, one the human race couldn't hope to win.

He felt the shuttle shiver around him as it dived into the atmosphere. They were coming in over the ocean, heading towards Gagarin City. The garrison squatting beside the city was a vast brooding superstructure, protected by a force field and the presence of human settlements around it. Updated reports warned that the Funks were launching drones towards the shuttles, hoping to down some of them before they began to spew out armored Marines. The starships picked them off from orbit, clearing the path to the city. A timer appeared in front of his display, counting down the seconds. Ten, nine, eight...

There was a jerk as his suit was picked up and tossed out of the shuttle, falling down towards the ground. Captain Smythton led the way, followed by Conrad and the rest of his men. Warning lights flashed up on his display as the Funks turned their attention to the Marines, trying to pick them off before they reached the ground. The combat datanet activated automatically, bringing ECM and other countermeasures online. Several Marines fired back towards their tormentors, using their targeting systems to pick off the small plasma cannon normally deployed against armored vehicles. Others curled up and waited for the antigravity system to cut their fall, a second before they hit the ground.

Gagarin City had been built on one side of a river, a site that had reminded him of early London when he’d first seen the maps during the planning sessions. The original prefabricated buildings had been rapidly replaced with brick and wooden buildings constructed from materials found on the planet itself, while hundreds of small villages and farms had been established upriver and fishing boats had set out on the vast ocean. Some of the alien fish were inedible, others were considered a delicacy – or they had been, until the Hegemony took the planet. The cynical part of Conrad’s mind wondered if some of the higher-ups were more irritated over losing their expensive food than losing the planet itself.

The Funks had built their garrison on the other side of the river, a security measure that had seemed perfect when they’d landed and established their control over the high orbitals. There
 
was
 
a small insurgency underway, after all, and they knew better than to trust any human, even the turncoats who had gone to work for them. But now it would work against them, for there should be no humans in their garrison to be caught in the crossfire. Or so the planners had hoped. The Funks might just think of taking hostages if they were given long enough to consider.

He hit the ground and instantly crouched down, watching for possible threats – and targets. The Funks would have deployed their own troops to counter the landing as soon as they realised the threat, and they’d cleared away much of the foliage around their garrison to give their people clear fields of fire. They’d also built a small town for their own people, including a number of servants from their client races. Intelligence claimed that the Funks hadn't actually brought a large civilian population of their own, although Conrad knew better than to take that for granted. The spooks had been known to be wrong before.

A small detachment of enemy troopers appeared out of nowhere, firing towards the Marines. Conrad was in motion almost before he realised what had happened, jumping towards cover and firing back towards the enemy. Tanks – including the Challengers he’d worked with on Salisbury Plain – were heavily armored, but also alarmingly easy to see – and kill. Combat suits were far smaller and presented more difficult targets, as well as carrying weapons that would have made the tankers green with envy. A single Galactic-grade plasma cannon or HVM would tear through a Challenger like a knife through paper.

The Funks had their own suits, of course, and they moved forwards with a grim determination that any human would envy. They combined the fanatical fearlessness of terrorists and insurgents with workable doctrine and an understanding of their own weapons, making them far more dangerous enemies than anyone else the Marines had fought since they’d been founded. Funk males were supposed to be more aggressive than any other intelligent race, even human males competing for female attention. They certainly lived up to their reputation.

A plasma bolt scorched through the air, alarmingly close to his position. Someone had tracked him, then. He fired back as he crouched low and moved to another position, while three other Marines took advantage of the enemy’s preoccupation with Conrad to take up forward positions and pour fire on the enemy. A brief note flashed up in front of him, informing the Marines that plasma weapons fire had set the alien town on fire, before he dismissed it. There was no time to worry about the alien settlement when he was fighting for his life.

He saw a Funk pop out of cover and run forwards, seeking a better place to fire on the human invaders. Conrad snapped off a shot before he had quite realised what he was doing, striking the alien suit in the center of its torso. The blast punched right through the armor and crisped the alien inside, killing him instantly. Conrad wondered if the suit would try to continue the fight on its own – some human-designed suits could do so – but instead it just hit the ground and lay still. The Funks clearly agreed with the Cats that making AI
 
too
 
intelligent was asking for trouble.

Inch by inch, the Marines pressed forward towards the alien base. The force field shimmering overhead protected it from the starships, but it didn't touch the ground. Some of the briefers had explained that force fields would attempt to cut through the earth and completely shield the base, tearing through underground piping and installations in the process. All that really mattered to the Marines was that they could slip through the gap and take out the force field generator themselves, exposing the base to orbital fire. The Funks could surrender or the garrison would be taken out from orbit.

The outer shell of the base itself was made from hull metal, contemptuously repelling plasma shots from the Marines as they confronted the trenches and emplaced weapons the Funks had constructed to bleed an attacker white. They’d clearly had some reason to be paranoid about the locals, even though it looked as if they’d overdone it. Conrad stayed low – the automated weapons would snap off a shot at any Marine who exposed himself before biological minds could see and react – and pressed forward, leading four Marines behind him. A thought activated the grenade launcher and he fired a spread of grenades into an alien trench, before nipping forward and diving into the space cleared by the explosions. One Funk was clearly badly wounded, if not dying; the other seemed to be stunned, but alive. Grenades just weren't as effective on armored troopers as they were on unprotected men.

He lifted an arm to shield himself as the Funk threw himself forward and crashed right into Conrad. The blank metal of his facemask seemed to mock the humans as blows rained down with armored strength, shaking the entire suit. An unsuited human would have been smashed to pulp with just one blow. They were too close to risk using his plasma cannon and so he fought back, matching the alien blow for blow. Neither one of them could gain an advantage, even with their augmented suits. He found himself wishing that he could see the alien face, to look into the red eyes that had haunted humanity’s nightmares since they’d realised that not all of the Galactics were friendly. The thought drove him on as he kicked the alien in the chest, knocking him backwards and down the trench. A burst of plasma fire from one of the Marines cut the alien down before he could get back up and return to the fight.

“Follow me,” Conrad barked. The updating display showed the Marines closing in on the base itself, pinpoint plasma fire picking off the automated guns that were trying to wipe out the Marines before they got too close. In some ways, the aliens had reinvented the art of building castles or forts – but humanity had learned that there was no such thing as a perfect fortification. Lords from the Dark Ages had been able to defy their kings, until the kings and their armies had started to use gunpowder and cannon to bring rebellious lords to heel. The Funks had barely started to work iron before they’d been introduced to the greater galaxy. But that didn't stop them being dangerous.

An automated weapon turned rapidly towards him, spewing out white-hot bursts of light. Conrad wasn't sure what it was tracking, or if it was tracking at all, but he took it out before it could start firing on him. The plasma containment field lost cohesion and exploded, scorching the garrison’s walls without actually doing any serious damage. They’d had good reason to be confident that their base was safe from anything the insurgents could do. One by one, the defences were eliminated, but the Marines had to get inside the base. And the Funks knew it too.

Some Marines launched a diversionary attack on the main doors as Conrad led an assault right up the side of the garrison, scrambling up the walls. A set of armored Funks met them as they reached the top of the brooding dome, only to be picked off by the snipers that had moved into position now that the automated weapons had been destroyed. Marine snipers could shoot an insect out of the air at five kilometres; even half-camouflaged, the Funks were easy targets. If they had snipers of their own, no one had ever encountered them and lived to tell the tale.

He fired a set of grenades into the hangar doors before the Funks could finish closing them. The explosions blasted through the air, destroying a set of helicopter-like aircraft and igniting stored ammunition, but the garrison barely shook. They’d separated the hangar from the rest of the base with another layer of hull metal, a precaution that would have seemed excessive if it hadn't paid off so well. Just because the Funks had been primitive when the Association had first encountered them didn't mean that they were stupid.

The Marines pressed into the hangar themselves, rushing through the burning debris and down towards the armored door. Two Marines fixed HE charges to the weak points while the remainder covered them, watching for any armored Funks that had survived the explosion. Conrad spied a suit and put a plasma burst through it before he realised that the Funk had been killed already. Another Marine found an alien so badly wounded that there was no hope of survival, even with Galactic medical care. He was put out of his misery as the Marines fell back and detonated the explosions. The armored door blasted inwards, clearing the way into the base. Armored Funks inched forward, firing as they came. They had to know as well as the humans that if they lost the force field, the fight would be over.

Conrad lunged forward as Marines fired grenades and small HVMs towards their targets. Explosions blasted through the garrison, tearing through the weaker interior and destabilising the entire structure. The Funks seemed determined to fight for every inch of ground, refusing to fall back even when it would have made sense. Conrad suspected that they were rushing defenders to the breach, fighting a delaying action while the remainder of their armored troopers set up defences further inside the complex. Unlike most of their technology, the garrison hadn't been copied from the Association. No human had ever been allowed inside the complex and then permitted to depart. What few reports they’d had from Terra Nova stated that prisoners who entered the garrison never came out again.

A warning light flashed up in his eyes as Captain Smythton died. It was a risk officers took, sharing combat with their men, but it was still a shock. Smythton had been a good man, even though – like all officers – he’d started out as a green lieutenant with a great deal of theory and very little experience. But he’d learned quickly. There would be time to mourn later, he told himself, as the Marines pressed onwards. The enemy didn't give them any time to relax, but kept throwing in their own attacks while they rigged booby traps further along the corridors. Another Marine died when he stumbled over a plasma charge some crafty Funk had pulled from an overheated cannon and rigged with a simple detonator. Two other Marines, their suits badly damaged, had to withdraw from combat. Their protests were still echoing in his ears even when they’d managed to return to the shuttles on the ground.