Final Assault (19 page)

“What?” Finn asked. He didn’t like the idea of anything going differently than planned.

“They’re coming down.”

“The alien ships?”

“No, the stars.”

Finn let out a nervous breath. “They weren’t due back for hours.”

“You want to beam them that message?” Wyatt asked. “Or should we just hope they got the memo?”

Finn took a deep breath. Wyatt was clearly as nervous as he was. Wyatt only got sarcastic when he was nervous or drunk. And Finn knew Wyatt wasn’t drunk.

“What’s the alien bastard closest to our position?” Finn asked.

“Forty miles, hovering at just under five thousand feet.”

He turned the plane toward the coordinates that Wyatt gave him.

They zoomed toward it, Finn’s breath coming in short gasps. He’d felt this way the first time he’d seen Alaska’s backcountry, how large and empty it was, and how beautiful.

Only now he wasn’t heading toward beauty. He was heading to destroy something. Something that would have destroyed him first if he let it.

“Je-zus, Finn,” Wyatt said, another whistle in his voice. “TCAS shows there must be a hundred different planes heading toward those alien ships.”

“Where’s air traffic control when you need them?” Finn muttered. He’d never been in such crowded airspace. “How many are going to get there before us?”

“Maybe one or two.” Wyatt grinned, his face green in the light from the cockpit instruments. He looked like the Grinch on speed.

“Let’s hope the rest of them are paying attention,” Finn said.

It seemed to take forever to reach the alien ship’s coordinates, but in truth it only took a matter of minutes.

“You use TCAS and radar and eyeball stuff as well,” Finn said. “I’m not getting close to any of our own guys.”

“Don’t worry,” Wyatt said. “I live a charmed life.”

“I hope to God that’s true,” Finn said. He’d always been afraid that surviving the bear had used all of Wyatt’s luck.

They were right on top of the coordinates, but Finn couldn’t see the huge ship below him in the dark. He knew it was there, though. He could feel it, like a ghastly poisonous shape stalking him in the night. His hands were slick on the controls. He’d never been this close to evil before.

His instructions were to stay at least two thousand feet above the ship. They were supposed to time their drop with radar, using their slowest stable airspeed.

And then just hope.

As the person who briefed them had said, even if one out of ten bombs hit and stick, that would be enough to hurt an alien ship.

Well, he had only one bomb, and he was going to make it work. He only got one shot at these ugly mothers, and he was going to give it all he could.

“Coming up on the target,” Wyatt said.

Finn relaxed. They were in routine now. “Count me down.”

“Thirty seconds,” Wyatt said.

They had practiced this routine a dozen times, both with daylight and night drops, hitting a huge circle the size of an enemy ship with dummy bombs. At night they had hit the target from two thousand feet three out of seven tries. Tonight would be number four.

He desperately wanted to take them in closer, but he’d been sternly lectured that going any closer would destroy the plane and get them killed. And that would do Earth’s cause no good at all. The aliens were going to make another raid. Earth needed the plane in one piece and ready to bomb again.

Still he was tempted to dive in lower, make sure he delivered the bomb on target. He wouldn’t have gotten where he was without taking risks.

“Ten seconds,” Wyatt said.

Too late to do it this time. Next time.

“Five”

Finn’s heart was pounding.

“Four.”

His finger found the release.

“Three.”

These seconds seemed to take forever.

“Two.”

He braced himself. This was what he had trained for.

“One.”

He glanced at Wyatt, who was concentrating.

“Go!”

Finn pressed. He could feel the bomb release from the plane. He waited a moment, then turned, banking away and back toward base to get quickly out of the way of the other planes coming in to make similar attack runs.

It was a sea of running lights and wings and blips on the radar screen. He flew as best he could, given the traffic.

“Well?” he asked, as Wyatt tracked the bomb.

The seconds dragged past.

“Well?”

“Got it!” shouted Wyatt. “Direct hit. We got it!”

Finn let out air he hadn’t even known he had been holding. He fought to remain calm, knowing he had some flying left to do. “Let’s just hope the damn thing stuck. I want to see the explosion when those bastards reach forty thousand feet.”

He took the jet back toward Juneau and resumed his tight circle pattern. He’d stay up out here as long as fuel allowed, just hoping for the sight of that thing exploding.

He wasn’t disappointed.

Eighteen minutes later, the night sky lit up with a flare that was as bright as dawn.

One alien ship gone.

And in all his life he had never felt so proud.

November 11, 2018
5:14 Universal Time

Second Harvest: Second Day

Cicoi’s two damaged eyestalks were permanently stuck in their pockets. They felt swollen and they ached, a constant distraction from the task before him.

His lower tentacles were wrapped around the command circle, his uppers spread on the controls. His remaining eyestalks were extended, watching the surface of the third planet, as if he could see all the details.

Of course he couldn’t.

But he knew them.

Twenty-six ships had been destroyed, all harvest ships. So many others had been damaged.

The creatures were more inventive than even he had thought. Who would have imagined that they found a delivery system for explosives that didn’t get snared in the energy shield?

Their attack had been brilliant and beautifully executed, and he had given them the time. The very system—the Sulas on the ground, harvesting as they had done each Pass before—had shown the creatures where to bring their weapons. They had attacked at the right moment, and somehow their weapons had worked even though they were not close by.

It had been brilliant and devastating. Thousands of his people would die of starvation because of this single disaster.

And he was running out of time.

At home, at least, plans were going well. He had received word that six ships would be ready to launch at the explosive devices the creatures had sent toward Malmur. The three ships he had sent after the devices would catch them before they were able to attack the planet’s surface.

The Elder appeared before him like an angry wraith. Cicoi did not know how long the Elder had been there, listening to his thoughts.

The Elder slipped beside Cicoi in the command position. Cicoi did not move out of the way as he once would have.

We must strike back
, the Elder said.

We already have a plan
, Cicoi thought. He no longer felt qualms about challenging the Elder.

The Elder didn’t even seem to hear him.
We can gain more energy and materials from attacking their population centers. We must not allow them to do this to us again.

Cicoi felt shock roll through him. Had the Elder lost his sense of their mission?
These creatures have come a long way since our last Pass. They are not the same creatures that we saw after our last sleep. They have gone from being primitives to gaining space travel. Do you actually think they will still be devastated by our attack the next time our planet comes close to them?

The Elder floated away from the command center.
We will make them remember. We will hurt them so badly they will never recover.

To do that,
Cicoi said,
we must devastate their world. It is our best source of food.

You do not understand war,
the Elder said.

“No,” Cicoi actually spoke aloud, something he hadn’t done with the Elder in months. “You do not understand us any longer. We are not people who live in a straight time line any more. We live interrupted lives. You have forgotten that.”

And you have forgotten respect.

“Perhaps,” Cicoi said. “But I know that fighting your way will destroy all of us.”

His staff pocketed eyestalks and wrapped their tentacles around consoles in an attempt to ignore Cicoi’s side of the conversation.

“We must get enough food to sustain as many of our people as we can,” Cicoi said. “We will stay with the planned second targets.”

The Elder hovered close. Cicoi had to fight to keep his upper tentacles still. He didn’t want the Elder to see how nervous he was.

Cicoi had never stood up for himself before, but he had to now. The Elder’s tactics were wrong, and if Cicoi followed them, he would doom his people forever.

We must not lose any more ships,
the Elder said, but the words sounded petulant, as if he were upset at Cicoi for having the better idea.

We will not
, Cicoi promised.
I have a plan. Once you showed me the weapons systems in the warships. Will they still work?

Of course,
the Elder said with pride.
They are tied to the propulsion systems. If propulsion works, weapons work.

Cicoi pocketed three of his eyestalks. It was a nervous gesture and he wished he hadn’t done it. The Elder might have seen the movement as weakness.

But
, the Elder said, clearly noting Cicoi’s gesture,
they use a lot of energy.

Cicoi let his upper tentacles fall against his side. His staff’s remaining eyestalks pocketed. Cicoi had made a command movement in front of an Elder, and the others wanted no part of it.

Better to use too much energy,
Cicoi said,
than to lose more ships.

The Elder floated before him, seemingly curious.
What do you propose?

We must station the warships above the harvest ships, and when any of the creatures ’ships fly near, we destroy them.

We do not absorb their energy?
the Elder asked.

Cicoi felt as if he were being baited.
No. We use weapons. They will not expect it.

This will be your decision. Its success or failure will rest on you.

Cicoi did not respond. There was nothing he could say. What the Elder failed to understand was that the decisions all had rested on Cicoi. The Elder’s position was one as honored ancient, adviser and near-god. Cicoi was a young leader who was not being allowed to pay for his mistakes.

So all he could do was make certain there would be no others.

This seemed like the most logical choice.

When he did not respond to the Elder, the Elder floated away and Cicoi could no longer see him. Still, Cicoi waited several moments before unpocketing his three eyestalks.

His Second saw Cicoi’s movement, and unpocketed his remaining eyestalks. Slowly the other staff did the same. They seemed surprised that Cicoi was still before them, surprised that the Elder had not done something in retribution for Cicoi’s lack of respect.

They had not heard the conversation. Most of it had occurred in Cicoi’s mind. Most of the other conversations had occurred there, too. And what Cicoi was learning was that the Elder, while he had more experience, wasn’t always right. The Elder still thought as if there was all the time in the universe, as if the Malmuria were millions strong, living on a planet that revolved around its own sun, and did not have to worry that a single error would cost thousands of lives.

Cicoi had to worry about such things. If he made too many mistakes, he would guarantee that his people would not survive the next darkness.

He would destroy his own race.

“Commander,” his Second said, eyestalks turned away from him, “forgive the intrusion. But I have just received word that the Sulas are ready for another harvest.”

It was time then. He used the tip of his fifth upper tentacle to summon the globe that represented the third planet. It appeared before him, rotating slowly, depicting the richest areas of the continents and the areas most populated by the third planet’s sentient creatures.

Cicoi studied the surface, even though he had picked out the targets before his ship had started orbiting the third planet.

“We will follow the plan as established earlier,” Cicoi said to his Second. “Inform the Commanders of the North and Center.”

His Second lowered his tentacles and flattened his eyestalks. Then he bent over his console to do Cicoi’s bidding.

This was the most important harvest. Cicoi was determined to get through it without losing a single ship.

The third planet’s creatures had surprised him for the final time.