Christopher Nuttall - Invasion

“And our boys?” The President asked. His gaze searched the main display. “Where are they?”

“On their way,” Paul said. The small shuttle was almost beyond detection, assuming that it was the right shuttle. There had been no emergency signal, but that proved nothing. The aliens might have reacted quickly enough to prevent a distress signal from getting out. “It’s time to launch the main attack.”

The President smiled wryly. “Two angles of attack, each one offering the possibility of decisive victory, but if both of them fail, we lose. Is it worth the risk?”

Deborah spoke from her chair. “You saw the report, Mr President,” she said. “Mass starvation across Africa and Europe. The Northeast is no longer capable of functioning. China in ruins and torn apart by civil war. Russia is disintegrating… and hell, we’re disintegrating as well. They’ve killed upwards of a billion humans in three months of war. If they remain in control, well… we’re reaching our limit. A few more months like this and we won’t have a country any more.”

“Besides,” General Hastings added, “we’re committed now.”

“So everyone keeps saying,” the President said. He smiled thinly. “What was I thinking when I decided I wanted to run for President? Colonel, send the order; Phase Three is to commence at once.” He paused. “And pass on a message from me; good luck.”

“Yes, Mr President,” Paul said. He turned to issue the orders through one of the junior operators. The big displays kept updating as the orders went out, although no one was entirely sure how accurate they were. The fog of war was settling in around them, confusing the humans… and, he hoped, confusing the aliens as well. It would all be settled, one way or the other, within the next few hours.

The President bowed his head in prayer.

“That’s confirmed,” the dispatcher said. “We have a GO signal.”

Gary leaned back in his chair and started flipping switches. The SSTO, sitting under the camouflage netting, started to warm up. They hadn’t dared test the shuttles before — the aliens would have noticed and known what was coming — and there was a small, but definite chance that something might go wrong, even though the alien definition of ‘idiot-proof’ was much more thorough than the NASA definition. There were thirty shuttles, built according to the alien plans with some improvements, and some of them might not fly.

“Understood,” he said, winking at the co-pilot. Simon Horvat had been a USAF fast-jet pilot who had survived the decimation of the USAF in the first bombardment of Earth and transferred to the SSTO corps, looking for some payback. The vast majority of the pilots hadn’t managed to make the switch — the simulated SSTO craft flew very differently to F-22s and other normal aircraft — but Simon had made it. “We have thirty seconds to lift-off, I repeat, thirty seconds to lift-off.”

The dispatcher managed, somehow, to convey a scowl through her voice. “You have clear skies and good hunting,” she said. By now, the remaining two parasite ships had been hammered into beaten hulks by the ground-based lasers and masers. They wouldn’t have been completely destroyed — the lasers weren’t that powerful — but in the midst of the bombardment, they would have lost most of their systems and were, hopefully, falling down towards the planet. “The President has sent you a personal good luck message.”

“Tell him we’re on our way,” Gary said, and keyed in the final sequence. The SSTO suddenly came alive around them as power thrummed through the ship. It didn’t feel like a space shuttle, or even one of the massive Russian rockets, rather more like a helicopter on the verge of leaping upwards. The craft had been much easier to make than he’d expected; if NASA had pushed it, Earth would have had the craft a long time before the aliens arrived. “This is Armstrong , requesting permission to depart.”

“Permission granted,” the dispatcher said. The drives were now throttling up, producing a heat signature that might be detectable from space. The alien prisoners hadn’t been able to shed light on the exact moment when the shuttle would become detectable, or when it would draw fire; it depended on how the aliens had preset their automated servants. “The covering is being removed… now. The area is clear.”

Gary laughed. “Mission control, launching… now!”

He pushed down on the switch and the rockets fired. Instantly, he felt as if an elephant was sitting on his chest, the pressure growing stronger as the craft started to struggle towards orbit. They were definitely committed now; the simulations had suggested all kinds of things that could go wrong, from improper fuel mixes to stealthy alien Brilliant Pebbles-type systems in orbit, watching for human spacecraft. The console was coming alive as the sensors, suddenly shed of the need to remain hidden, started to come online, sending radar pulses out ahead of them. They were on their way.

“So far, so good,” Simon said, watching the readouts carefully. The pilots were almost passengers in their own craft at the moment, allowing the computers to handle the first part of the flight. They had to reach escape velocity and orbit before the aliens managed to get more of their parasite ships overhead, or their whole adventure would come to a sudden and unpleasant end. “Establishing laser links… now!”

Gary took a breath. The entire fleet, thirty shuttles, should have risen from Earth. If even one of them had failed, their combat capability would be seriously degraded. They couldn’t risk using radios either, not when the aliens would definitely be listening to their words, so they had to use lasers to communicate… and that meant finding the other shuttles. If something went wrong…

“I have laser link with ground stations and twenty-eight of the shuttles,” Simon said, after a moment. “Telemetry reports that Reagan and Lead Pipe were unable to generate thrust and rise from the ground.”

Gary swore. Barely five minutes into the mission and they were already down two shuttles. The pilots would survive, but if they lost the battle, the aliens would smash the shuttles from orbit, whatever was wrong with them. The only good part of the caper was that they’d had their problems on the ground and not at attitude, when they might have cost the lives of the crew.

“Get on to the engineers and see if they can figure out what happened,” he ordered, despite the growing pressure. He didn’t understand how Simon managed to talk so normally. The pressure was worse in a Russian rocket, but at least it was over quickly. “Tell them to inform us if it was a problem that could affect anyone else.”

Simon winced. “Could we do anything about it if it was?”

“Probably not,” Gary admitted. There wasn’t room for proper spacesuits in the shuttles, although they did wear standard NASA-issue protective garments. It brought back a sense of Déjà vu ; they’d worn similar outfits when they’d been taken onto the Guiding Star . This time, at least, they were armed and dangerous, unlike the pitiful Discovery . The aliens had simply blown the shuttle out of space and destroyed the remaining two on the ground. “I’d just like to know…”

The pressure eased, slightly, as they punched their way through the upper atmosphere and out into low Earth orbit. Gary examined the live feed from the ground quickly, running through the situation in his head, trying to assess it properly. There was no time, now, for orders from the President or someone else looking over his shoulder. Seventeen parasite ships in orbit and apparently intact, despite the best the ground stations could do; two more apparently disabled and damaged, and an additional three on entry trajectories that didn’t look controlled. All of them out of place for a mass attack, but seven of the seventeen on trajectories that would allow them to intercept the shuttles short of Guiding Star’s battle section, which was ahead of them. The battle section, he’d been told, was almost out of fuel mass, but it didn’t take much imagination to conceive of the aliens refuelling her somehow and guiding her away from the shuttles. They had to reach her before she could escape.