“Launch missiles from the outside edge of the envelope,” he reminded them, designating targets for the starfighters and bombers. “Then close in and strafe their hulls.”
He smirked at the thought. If there was one thing the aliens were probably regretting, it was teaching humanity how to produce their own plasma weapons. Once, humanity’s starfighters wouldn’t have been a serious threat to the alien ships. Now, even a single starfighter could do a great deal of damage. The aliens had good reason to curse themselves for not armouring their own ships against weapons they knew perfectly well existed.
But then their carriers would move like wallowing pigs, he thought. He could see the alien logic, even though he disagreed with it. And they’d be sitting ducks for mass drivers.
He eyed Contact One warily as his starfighters flashed past it, but the alien craft did nothing suspicious. Kurt continued to mutter advice and reassurance to his pilots, even though most of them had mastered the basic simulations. But a real battle could be dangerously unpredictable. At least the aliens didn’t have starfighters of their own…
“Break and attack,” he ordered. The alien sensors swept over the fighters, preparing to open fire. “I say again, break and attack.”
He yanked his fighter into a crazy corkscrew as he flew into engagement range, followed by the remaining starfighters. Contact Three opened fire, filling space with deadly plasma bolts that chased the starfighters as they closed in on their target. It wasn’t fair, part of Kurt’s mind noted. Too many human starfighter pilots had died at the Battle of New Russia because they hadn’t had the slightest idea of what they were facing. Now… they knew and they still lost pilots every time they faced the aliens.
“Fire,” he snapped. The missile launched from his starfighter and zoomed towards the alien ship. One by one, the other starfighters opened fire, their missiles closing in on their targets. The alien ship switched its fire to the missiles, allowing the starfighters to get close enough to read the alien writing on the hull. Kurt smiled, nastily, and opened fire. Streaks of brilliant plasma burned through the alien hull and slammed deep into the ship’s innards.
They seem to be less explosive than carriers, he thought, as he yanked his starfighter away a second before a bolt of plasma would have ended his life. Maybe they have fewer stockpiles of fuel and weapons.
It didn’t matter. The alien craft exploded into a hail of plasma, the blast wiping out two of the pilots who had strayed too close to their target. Kurt heard a gasp from one of the other pilots, another trainee. Clearly, she hadn’t taken the warnings about how many of them were going to die to heart. He pulled his attention away from her — Rose would talk to her later, assuming they both survived — and checked the overall situation. Contacts Two, Three and Four were gone. Contact Five was breaking off and hightailing it back towards the tramline.
“Engage and destroy,” Kurt ordered, savagely. It felt good to lash out and destroy something, even if it was nothing more than an alien starship. He tried to imagine the aliens wearing Fred’s face and felt a rush of bloodlust that shocked even him If this was his last chance to fly a starfighter, he was damned if he was wasting it. “I say again, engage and destroy.”
“The last enemy ship is retreating,” Janelle reported. “But she won’t make it to the tramline before our starfighters get her.”
“It won’t matter,” Ted said. It would be roughly two hours before the forces orbiting Target One picked up any signals the aliens might have sent, but there was no way he could get to them before they realised the humans were in their star system. Maybe the aliens hadn’t sent any signals… he shook his head. Long-range passive sensors would certainly pick up something. “But order them to take her out if they can.”
He watched, feeling the old helplessness again, as the starfighters closed in on their target. The aliens fought savagely, but hopelessly, refusing to give in right to the last. Ted silently saluted the aliens as their starship died, then turned his attention back to Contact One. She was sitting there, following her orders, and waiting. Was he looking at the first step towards ending the war or a Trojan Horse? Might the aliens have deliberately intended to drive Contact One into their arms?
But that would require far too much to go right for them, he thought, grimly. They’re powerful, but they’re not gods.
“Inform Doctor MacDonald that she can begin transmitting her contact sequences now,” Ted ordered. The first attempts to use the First Contact packages to address the aliens had failed, but the aliens had clearly sent back one of their own during the first abortive attempt at communication. Maybe this time it would work better. “Then recall the starfighters, apart from the CSP. I want to be ready if Contact One so much as twitches in our direction.”
He looked down at the display, thinking dark thoughts. The alien shipkiller plasma cannon only worked at relatively short range — and Contact One was definitely outside the minimal range for effective use. But there were other weapons, missiles and mass drives in particular, that could do very real damage. The paranoid part of his mind was insisting that they made their way to a safer distance, despite the risks of losing the first real chance to communicate with the aliens. It was the safe thing to do.
“Aye, Admiral,” Janelle said. “Doctor MacDonald is sending her signals now.”
Ted nodded. Everyone had assumed that mathematics would be universal — but then, everyone had assumed that any alien race would be peaceful, or at least make some attempt to communicate before opening fire. It struck him as odd, given the number of berserkers or downright alien aliens in science-fiction, perhaps a legacy of a more idealistic time. But it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was making contact now.
“I think they’re transmitting signals back,” Janelle said. “Steams of numbers and…”
She broke off. “Admiral,” she said, her voice shaking, “I think you’re going to want to see this.”
Henry had been lost in prayers when the shaking had finally come to an end. It was impossible, as always, to see outside the bulkheads, but he assumed the aliens had managed to destroy or lose their enemies. The only alternative was that the aliens had been forced to surrender and they were about to be handed over to another alien faction. And then one of the aliens slithered back into the cell.
“Observe,” it said. A holographic image appeared in the cell. “A ship.”
“Ark Royal,” Henry said, shocked. There could be no mistake. The giant carrier was unique. He’d seen images of planned future carriers, craft that would — once again — incorporate heavy armour into their designs, but none of them had looked like the Old Lady. She was a relic of a bygone age in too many ways. “You made contact!”
“They are sending us numbers,” the alien said. As always, it’s voice was atonal, but Henry thought he detected a hint of humour in its face. “We will send them you.”
Henry hesitated. Naked and wet, soaked in sweat, he knew he would hardly make the best impression. But there was no choice. Whatever had happened outside the bulkheads, it had clearly resulted in the best possible outcome. The aliens had made contact with humanity!