Battle Station (7 page)

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Let’s review the current situation. We have another large force on the other side of this ring. They are neutral I’d say for now, but will possibly become friendly in the future. I count the Crustaceans as a plus. Even if they don’t help us in this system, they should operate as a buffer between us and any new Macro invasion force coming from that direction.”

“Sir, if I may interject,” Captain Sloan said.

“Go for it, Captain.”

“If the lobsters are out there playing interference for us, maybe the best course of action would be to place a sentry ship on their side of the ring.”

I nodded. “I’ve made arrangements to do just that, promising aid if the Macros come against them in force.”

“Another alliance sir?” asked Miklos. “Alliances have a way of dragging nations into other people’s wars.”

“Their war is our war, Miklos. This is all about the machines against the biotics—the living against mechanized death. But still, I appreciate your input.”

Miklos leaned back in his chair, nodding. In truth, I
did
appreciate his input. He had a more introspective view on events than most of my staff. He knew more history, and looked into things more deeply than Sloan, who was essentially a frontline fighter with the survival instincts of a city rat.

“I want to put something to rest, here,” I said. “I don’t want another chaotic command mess of the kind I overheard on the channel when I returned to this system. In a ground combat situation, when my input is unavailable, Captain Sloan is in charge. In Fleet situations and for matters of overall command, my second is Captain Miklos. This military unit should be seen as apart from the rest of Star Force for now. We are a task force on a mission, we have our orders from Star Force, and we are executing them at a remote site as we see fit. Is that clear for everyone?”

Captain Sloan didn’t even bat an eye. I could tell he didn’t care who was in charge, he just wanted things settled. I liked that about him. He wasn’t ambitious—except in the matter of his personal survival. Miklos frowned and nodded more slowly and thoughtfully. He was a thinker. As far as I could tell, he wasn’t thrilled to be my second-in-command. He knew what a burden that might become. But he accepted my arrangements without complaint.

I liked supporting officers who didn’t complain. I smiled and left that baggage behind me.

“Let’s press on, then,” I said. The first order of business is the liberation of this system from the Macros—all the Macros. The Centaurs are trapped in their satellites without access to the ground. We are going to provide that access. Rather than using the presence of the Crustacean’s Nano fleet to cover our retreat, I’m going to use them to cover our attack. We are going to retake the surface of every world in the system. By doing so, we will gain a set of invaluable Nano factories as a gift from the Centaurs. We can use those systems to set up further defenses and fortify this system on a permanent basis.”

There were murmurs of agreement, with reservations. I could see questions in their eyes—some registered mild shock.

Finally, Kwon voiced everyone’s concern. He’d kept quiet throughout the meeting up until now. “A new ground campaign, Colonel? With so few marines?”

I turned to him and smiled. “I think we’ll have enough troops, Kwon. The Centaurs will make up the bulk of our forces. I’m envisioning every Star Force marine with a full company of armed Centaurs at his back.”

Kwon looked comically alarmed. “Excuse me, sir. I would not trust these creatures behind me.”

It was my turn to appear surprised. “You don’t trust them? You’ve met them in battle and heard their speeches. They are an honorable people, Kwon.”

“Of course, sir! It is not their honor I would question—it is their aim that worries me. With a hundred goats behind me—I fear they would burn my butt off.”

I laughed. “In that case, it is your mission as First Sergeant to train your troops well.”

“Excuse me, Colonel,” Captain Miklos said. “How many of these Centaur troops do we have?”

I turned to Marvin, who had been in communication with them on my behalf. “How many volunteers are they reporting, Marvin?”

“About thirteen million, sir,” he said.

I snorted. “Sounds like that will do it. Our shortage will be in terms of transportation, armaments and supplies.”

“The Centaurs wish to ensure us that once they reach their world,” Marvin said. “Their troops can subsist on wind, rain, sunshine and grass for an extended period.”

“Hmm,” I said. “I suppose they could. They probably won’t even require us to dig latrines, will they?”

A general chuckle swept the group.

“Weapons then,” I said. “Are we churning them out?”

“Yes Colonel,” Marvin said. “The Centaurs had two factories in each satellite. Hundreds of packs and projectors are being constructed every hour. They are cannibalizing parts of their habitats for the purpose. Our factories are working on the latest upgraded suit designs.”

I nodded and stood up. “Meeting is adjourned. Marvin, accompany me to the bridge. The rest of you return to your stations.”

I’d made a significant alteration to our battle suit design after my experiences with the Crustaceans and the Nano ship. I didn’t like the limited field of fire that having twin arm-mounted projectors had given me. In close combat situations, a marine could be rendered helpless by the bulk of his own suit. I felt a free-swinging laser rifle was superior, attached only by a cable to the suit’s generator. You could aim it anywhere and more importantly with a single large projector I could jack-up the wattage the system could output. I had a feeling that before we were done in this system each man was going to have to blaze his way through quite a bit of Macro hardware, and one big projector was better than two smaller ones for that purpose. We had so few marines, only about three hundred in the system, that this alteration didn’t strain our overall production.

“What is the immediate plan, Colonel?” Miklos asked.

“Our sole factory is the one aboard my ship,” I said. “I’m going to stop the production of mines. After our battle suits have been upgraded, we’re going to use our one factory to modify our ships. We need to make them more comfortable for the transportation of—what was it, thirteen million Centaurs?”

The meeting broke up and my staff shuffled out. They were accustomed to vague orders and incredible plans. I was proud of them. No one shouted with laughter at my insanity. No one questioned that we could do such a thing. At the height of U. S. deployment of troops in World War Two, they’d had about thirteen million men in uniform. Why couldn’t Star Force field that many mountain goats?

In truth, I had no intention of using all thirteen million Centaur volunteers. The reality was without weapons systems they would be worse than useless against the Macros. The real challenge would be to maximize the number of trained, armed troops I could assemble and transport to the battlefield in a timely basis. And time was against us in this regard. I felt sure that once our campaign started, Macro Command on the target worlds would start digging in. They would realize as soon as we struck that we were coming for every planet eventually. Since they could out produce us, they would be very hard to take out without drastic measures.

When everyone else was gone, Marvin and I took stock of our operational situation. I didn’t like what I saw. On every target world, there were three main factories under domes—at least, that’s what we could see. There might be more domes hidden in the seas or underground.

I tapped the closest of the six planets on the screen. “That’s got to be it, Marvin. The closest one. It’s cold, but habitable. It also happens to be the original homeworld of the Centaurs. Might as well give them what they really want. We’ll have to do a set of bombing runs on each of the enemy domes, eliminating their production capacity before they can turn it against us. We’ll have to use tactical nuclear bombardment. If we hit them all from space at the same time, they should fall, overwhelmed.”

“I disagree,” Marvin said, focusing a squad of cameras on me and the display.

I glanced at him. “Talk to me.”

“We need the domes—or more specifically, we need the large factories inside.”

“What for? We can’t use them.”

“Oh yes, I believe we can.”

“How?”

“I’ve studied recordings of your prior engagements with these systems. No attempt was made to capture these large scale production systems and turn them into assets. Star Force objectives might have been met more easily if this had been done.”

I blinked at him. “What? You mean we can take them over?”

“You’ve done just that with many factories of Nano origin. The process is not that dissimilar in the case of the larger production systems.”

“But we can’t talk to them. All they ever did was blow up in our faces.”

Marvin twisted some of his tentacles and adjusted the image displayed on the screen. Stock footage of our original campaign against the Macros in South America loaded and began to play. “It was a simple matter of miscommunication,” he said. “These systems do not speak the same language as the Nano ships—but it is similar. Really, it is a more primitive version of the same binary protocol. An earlier version, if you will.”

I stared at him. “You can talk to them? You can change their programming before they blow themselves up?”

“Yes.”

“But we’d have to get you down there, into one of those domes, right?”

“Yes. The domes prevent all transmission from external sources.”

I nodded, remembering. When we’d faced these Macro factories, hiding under clam-shell-like force fields, we’d only been able to get inside with footmen. No form of energy was able to penetrate. Only direct hits from nuclear weapons could break down the force domes themselves. Once that was done, of course, the factory inside was invariably destroyed. But if we could sneak Marvin inside, he thought he could reprogram the machines and make them ours.

The thought was magical and soon consumed my mind. Whole new possibilities opened up. With even
one
such super-factory, I’d be able to produce huge amounts of whatever source materials I wanted—the more I thought about it, the bigger my eyes and my ideas became.

“We’re going to do it, Marvin,” I said, turning to him. I wondered if my eyes shone with yellow greed. “We’ll do it—or we’ll die trying.”

“That is a logical assumption,” he said.

-7-

Within a few days, we’d moved my force of destroyers to hover over the target, a mountainous world dotted by snow-capped peaks and winding emerald valleys. There was a Centaur satellite here—a big one. I wasn’t surprised about that, after all, this was their home planet. It made sense there would be a large population stationed nearby.

I confirmed through a number of overly-long conversations with the Centaurs that their factories were churning out heavy-weapons kits. Their lighter lasers weren’t sufficient for the task of taking out the big machines. Following our designs for the basic infantry kit, I had them producing as many as possible with their factories. I’d cut the design down from the equipment our men usually carried, but the energy output was comparable. They had a heavy pack, which I’d elongated and based on a harness system that was designed for their four-legged bodies. Each kit was equipped with a nanite-cloth helmet that was completely opaque except for the specialized goggles built to fit over wide-set eyes. The helmet only protected their vision, not much else. It was equipped with a radio system however, so they could receive remote commands. The only other part of the system that mattered in combat was the projector itself, which they cradled in their stubby forearms. Connected by a thick, black nanite cable to the pack on their backs, the troopers were ready to go.

Only, they weren’t. We tested them in person, and immediately found a critical problem. The individual Centaur soldiers weren’t strong enough to carry the newer, heavier packs and projectors. The systems weighed in around eight hundred pounds, and even their sturdiest rams had trouble walking with them. Smaller individuals buckled and staggered, toppling over.

Frowning, I got out the com box and had Marvin translate my speech to the Centaurs in the staging area we’d set up inside their satellite. “Honorable people of the wind,” I began. It was always good to start things off by praising them. “We have a problem. Your warriors are not strong enough to carry the heavy weapons systems they need to destroy the machines.”

“Our hearts are prideful and true. The rivers of our world may not lift a stone, but they will wear it down to nothing given enough years.”

“That’s great,” I said, not having much of a clue what they were talking about. “But we need to kill Macros, and as-designed these systems will not work. Fortunately, I have a solution. It will require that we alter the people of your herds. They will have to undergo nanite injections to improve their strength.”

The Centaurs made many oddly-worded inquiries as to the nature of these alterations and injections. As I explained them further, they became incensed.

“Our people may subject themselves to allowing machines to squat upon our backs. We may even allow machines to transport us to our battles. But we will never conjoin with them! There is no greater dishonor imaginable! To become one with the machine is to join the enemy!”

I grimaced. I thought about telling them that we’d done it, and that was how we were able to carry this equipment ourselves. I decided against mentioning these facts as I felt sharing that information might very well backfire. Who knew how they might react? They might rethink our entire tenuous alliance.

“Sir,” Miklos said, standing nearby.

I turned to him irritably.

“I might have a solution. They say they are willing to be harnessed to carry the weapons. Perhaps we can build even larger projectors and have them drag the units on carts.”

I considered the idea, but I didn’t really like it. They wouldn’t be able to move as fast that way. One of the big advantages of these Centaur troops was their natural agility on mountainous terrain. If they were dragging a cart behind them in teams, bumping along over the rocks, we’d be greatly slowed down.