The Last Charge (The Nameless War Trilogy Book 3) (34 page)

As she spoke another two pods shuddered to a halt.

“It sounds like everyone with enough training to fly a fighter and find the fire button after no more than two attempts will be out there.”

On the screen, one side had been whittled down to a single fighter that now dodged and weaved desperately. On the opposing side, three others attempted to box it in.

“The only people who’ll be left around here are the ones who haven’t even completed basic,” she finished.

“The grapevine reckons this will be the last throw,” Schurenhofer replied. “End game and all that jazz.”

“Makes sense,” Alanna agreed.

The last pilot was doing well to be holding off three opponents. He winged one of his tormentors but the computer was registering that this had come at the price of a strained spaceframe and engines that were close to overheating.

“Have you ever thought about what you’ll do after the war?”

“No.”

“What, just ‘no’?”

“Just no. No point thinking about the future if you won’t even make it through the next moment.”

“I’m thinking about leaving the fleet, after the war of course. Probably won’t have enough years to get full pension rights, but I’d be close enough,” Schurenhofer said.

Alanna glanced over her shoulder. Funny how you could spend so much time with someone and not really know them – they’d been flying together for over a year and they’d never really talked about anything outside of the fleet.

“Any idea what you’ll do?”

“There are a fair number of jobs I could go for. I’d also like to have a family and, well... there’s a guy.”

Schurenhofer paused and looked slightly embarrassed.

“I knew him in school,” she said
, “we’ve been talking by email. I’d like to get to know him better.”

“Talking? Is that what you kids are calling it these days?”

“Hur, Hur. Seriously though, what about you?”

Alanna stared into the middle distance for a moment.

“Mars.”

“Mars? It’s a dump.”

“Right now, maybe. I might shoot for a piloting or even management position in the terraforming project. At the very least I’ll cash in on a promise to be given the full tour.” Alanna paused and shrugged. “But no point in worrying about it until I know whether I’ll get there.”

Another pod shut down. The ‘battle’ was over.

“Okay,” Alanna said standing up, “let’s tell them what they did wrong.”

___________________________

7th December 2068
 

“Well, that was predictable,” Lewis said as he straightened up. “We hit a location within three systems of the Spur, then it was inevitable that the Nameless would fortify.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Fengzi was still leaning over the table. The image was the first to arrive from the Spur since the
Spectre
made the original discovery. It was an ultra high-resolution optical picture with an astonishing level of detail, but what it revealed was heartbreaking. The super gate station was located above a Mars-like planet, locked in position at the Lagrange point between the planet and its attendant moon. The orbit of the planet bristled with defensive satellites and the moon’s surface showed even more fixed defences. Finally, dozens of Nameless warships floated around. A few showed signs of battle damage, but most were fully ready to offer defence.

“The surface defences would be the product of years of work,” Fengzi continued, “and clearly it’s still being expanded. That certainly tells me that this is critical ground for the
Worms.”

“It tells me things too,” Lewis said with less enthusiasm. “It tells me they don’t intend to lose it and that a conventional assault will incur such unacceptably high losses in the opening stages that we won’t be able to fight the second stage.”

“Then an
unconventional
assault,” Fengzi snapped.

“Yes,” said Lewis thoughtfully as he motioned forwards his chief of staff.

15th December 2068 

Wingate sat alone with his thoughts in the small waiting room. Unconsciously he ran his good hand over the nubs of his missing fingers. Time was slipping away from them and this was more appropriately the role of Secretary Callahan, but it was no great surprise that she had chosen to bypass him. The door opened and a White House aide slipped in.

“Admiral Wingate sir,” he said respectfully. “The President will see you now.”

“Thank you,” he replied as he tucked his cap under his arm.

President Clifton rose from behind the famous desk.

“Ah, Admiral, thank you for coming. Please be seated.”

The President quickly cut to the chase.

“Admiral Wingate, I know this is irregular and apologise for dragging you all the way from Dublin, but I feel we must discuss the fleet’s proposed assault.”

“Which aspect, Madam President?”

“I think you know which part, Admiral. I have received the Pentagon’s report regarding their ability to make the arrangements requested by the fleet. They have stated that the necessary changes can be made to these weapons. The Joint Chiefs of Staff have examined the fleet’s proposal and agree with it. Yet, I am troubled.

“Admiral Wingate, the fleet proposes to use enhanced fallout nuclear weapons against civilian targets. I do wonder whether the fleet has considered the ethics of its proposal?”

“In part, yes,” Wingate replied. “But we have mostly considered the practical considerations.”

“Practical considerations!”
Clifton exclaimed. “Practicality and military necessity have been used to justify a great deal. An orbital bombardment using kinetic strike weapons could level a city with one or two hits. Dear God, Admiral, how can this be justified?”

“Because we know the Nameless are driven by their motivation to acquire resources and above all living space. The reason we seek authorisation to deploy Cobalt Sixty enhanced fallout nuclear bombs, is that these are the only weapons we possess that will render a planet lifeless – permanently lifeless.”

“And a regular nuclear bomb isn’t good enough! The design for such weapons was a product of sheer wrong thinking during the Cold War period,” Clifton objected.

She stood up and began pacing back and forth across the Oval Office.

“We are talking about weapons that will cause such devastating radioactive fallout that those vaporised in the first blast will be considered the lucky ones! In effect Wingate, you are asking for permission to commit something which in my view could be judged a war crime!”

“Without question it’s a very big ask and one that I accept is extremely difficult for you to grant,” Wingate replied with a determined calm. “I do not doubt that there will be those that will say that this was a line that should not have been crossed. But those people are not here. Most of them have never put themselves forward to be the ones to make the hard decisions.”

Clifton was about to reply but Wingate raised a finger.

“With all respect, Madam President, I’m not finished.”

She nodded for him to continue.

“We
need
to pin the Nameless home fleet in place. And I emphasise it’s not a matter of wanting, but needing to. To the best of our knowledge, the only means by which we can do so is to attack one of their planets. Even if that attack is not completely successful, as long as we continue to possess any means by which to repeat the feat, the Nameless will have to retain a disproportionate force at each of their planets to be absolutely certain it is protected. As for the ethical considerations... well ethics are easy when consequences are limited. The question has to be, if this is an ethical red line, are we prepared to pay the price for
not
crossing it?”

“The fleet’s proposed offensive represents our last and probably only real hope of beating back the Nameless. This in turn is our only hope for peace. Given our opponent’s war aims – namely our eradication as a species, then the price of failure will be extinction. Are we then prepared to reduce our own chances, rather than use these weapons?”

Clifton walked over to the Oval Office windows and stared out.

“One of the great causes I have embraced since my very first day in politics is nuclear disarmament. Did you know that?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Yes, Madam President,” he replied.

“Now you are asking me to authorise the use of weapons that are the very epitome of salting the ground and poisoning the wells. If I’d known that the plans and research for these weapons still existed when I came into office, I would have had them destroyed. But now, now I have the military telling me this is the only way we can survive and the only arguments the dissenters can offer are ethical.”

Wingate made no reply.

“I will give the order for these weapons to be prepared and transferred because I believe I have no choice. But I am certain of one thing, Admiral, posterity will not thank us for this.”

“I know, Madam President, but we have been forced down this road. With the benefit of hindsight, future generations may say it was wrong and that there were other routes we might have taken. But based on the information we have, staying our hand is a luxury we cannot afford.”

“And in doing so, commit an unforgivable act,” she said. “But we will do what we must and hope that future generations will at least understand why.”

Wingate maintained his poise until out of the White House and on his way to DC Airport. Only then did he let out a long sigh of relief and tell his chief of staff.

“We have them.”

23rd December 2068 

“Jeff?”

Jeff Harlow looked up guiltily from his screen. There was a whole pile of things he really should be doing. But he was working on his book on company time – naughty, naughty. Not that Jen cared. She was just the messenger.

“Rich wants to see you in his office?”

“What about?”

“Not a clue,” she replied as she turned away. Jeff shook his head. How someone could work for a news network and be so determinedly uncurious was one of life’s little mysteries.

“Thanks Jen,” he said getting up, “as informative as ever.”

Richard was eating a sandwich when Jeff came in.

“Hi Jeff, what do you know about the Big Push?” he said without any preamble.

“That nine out of ten cats prefer it to other brands,” Jeff replied as he sat down.

“Well it’s about to get even pushier. This assault, offensive or whatever the military insist on calling it, is starting soon. The fleet is showing its usual fondness for embedded journalists but it looks like they’ll be forced to take a few of us along. Management really wants you to be our guy. You are a known face and, frankly, your reports have generally been favourable enough for the fleet to regard you as friendly.”

“Hey!” Jeff objected, “I’m not a military toady!”

“I know, I know. It’s just that you’ve been around enough to cover good news stuff. We can work with that,” Richard said soothingly. “There’s no guarantee you’ll be going any damn place, but we do need to know right now if you’re in.”

Jeff leaned back in his chair as he considered the offer. The last time he’d been an embedded journalist he’d found himself in action several times – and it had always scared the shit out of him. As soon as the network offered him a posting back on Earth he’d grabbed it with both hands. But then the siege had come and he realised he’d probably got out at the wrong time. There’d been a newbie for CNN, Rebecca something-or-other, who’d managed to get herself on board the
Illustrious
. Her reports had made her a household name. Okay, she’d lost half an arm to a flying missile fragment but the lucky bitch was
made
. Then that guy from Reuters, who’d somehow managed to get the first pictures of the Nameless bodies brought back and coined the name Worms for them. That lucky, lucky bastard! He’d been stuck in London for the siege, taken off air by the power failures and forgotten by the public as the grand ballet was danced above their heads. Okay, Mom wouldn’t be happy about him going up again but if he simply didn’t mention it over Christmas, problem solved.

“Where would I be?”

“Don’t know yet. The Fleet is being awkward. Their Governing Council will probably force them into it but for the moment they aren’t even prepared to say how many they’ll take. So, we need to be able to put someone forward without knowing where. Hell, they might just dump everyone on a transport somewhere and apologise afterwards.”

“No exclusivity?”

“I think some network – FOX or BBC I think... maybe Reuters – demanded they be given the exclusive on the coverage of the whole shebang.”

Jeff raised an eyebrow.

“What was the fleet’s response to that?”

“Let’s just say if we were to repeat it word for word in our next bulletin, the regulator would slap us very hard for indecency.”