22
“Interesting,” Chaney purred. “Interesting, interesting, interesting,” A warm mug of coffee with a dash of whiskey in it kept his nerves perked, but also relaxed as he dissected the report on the super crop strains. When confronted on the issue, Masterson, his naval counterpart, at first feigned ignorance, but broke down under pressure. By his logic, as long as the surface had access to the seas, they had no business starving as in his words, “they had more than enough food for them, where the settlements in orbit and the inner belt didn’t have that luxury.”
What he neglected to talk about was the massive crop output of our dedicated agriculture and aquaculture settlements, not enough to feed us in abidance, but no-one would starve if we had an unbroken chain. On top of that, Commodore Mendez admitted they’d taken food centers from their enemies in space. So why aren’t they using them?
When he finally twisted something out of Masterson, the data Dr. Withers had combed through yielded some, well, interesting results. They were no stranger to genetically modified food. Hell, they were a prerequisite to terraforming the planet as most of the plants had either developed more efficient photosynthesis or had been changed in that manner to compensate the reduced amount of sunlight compared to Earth.
The super crops had the same developments, but to an extreme degree. This allowed them to reach maturity in an eighth of the time under near-earth conditions. Overall, the plants had been highly refined, using their resources more effectively than standard crops and holding a 70% increase in nutritional value.
This is amazing, with this we can look more closely into the enhanced growth techniques for the tubers. Chaney looked at his watch and elected to give the doctor a call. As his office assistant, a slim tower with a speaker and microphone, called the head of biology, he checked the data again. I hope we’re not reading a bunch of snake oil.
“Good evening, Comrade Brigadier,” Withers said. “How may I be of service?”
Chaney returned to the top of the report. “This report on the super crops, what do you make of it?” he asked.
The other man mused on the other end of the line before answering. “If our counterparts are being honest, they’ve been holding out on us,” he replied. “That being said, I think we’ll see our own production of them soon.” Chaney nodded.
“I hope so,” he replied. “My associate was able to acquire most of the team behind the project, so if they made them before, I can’t see why we wouldn’t be able to manufacture our own soon.” He paused before continuing. “Has your associate gathered anything else interesting lately?”
Shaking his head, Chaney closed the report on super crops. “No, he’s indisposed right now, and I don’t want to bother him right now, Tharcian cybersecurity is incredibly potent and I don’t want to risk compromising him.” Potent enough that he would rather physically go to places to gather intel. “How are the feasibility studies coming?”
“Well for starters, the same techniques used to create the super crops can be used to enhance our tuber growth patterns,” Withers replied. “We could even cut out food requirements almost entirely and make them photosynthetic.”
“Not unless we’re desperate,” Chaney said. “They’re supposed to be the pinnacle of human ability in any given field, and I can’t approve of things that would make them less human, that would leave them open to discrimination.” That’s one of the reasons we stopped making them sterile around the time the MAGs was founded, because if they feel more like us, they’ll fight for us.
“Fine then,” Withers replied. “That being said, our other studies look promising, for example, the project I’ve tentatively called Project IMMORTAL only needs to discover the parameters we need to keep a dead brain active or restart a dead brain, once we’ve crossed that hurdle, we’ll have answer to its feasibility.”
“Just because you can keep it on doesn’t mean it can perform complex tasks,” Chaney replied. “Let alone pilot a panzerter.”
Withers chuckled. “That’s true comrade, however, even if we can’t use them for this, I’m sure we’ll find another use for them,” he said. “But imagine the possibilities, a brain in a jar doesn’t need to be comfortable, or the same amount of life support. You could have a much smaller cockpit module, among other benefits.”
He had a point. Most of the kills to the base Martian were direct hits to the cockpit, head, or engine. Even the Martian Trooper, the cheaper “mobilization’ variant, suffered from cockpit hits, although ammo explosions were less lethal with a smaller cockpit.
“From the engineering perspective, it is appealing,” Chaney finally replied. “But what about your last feasibility study?”
“Ah yes,” Withers said. “The psionics, we’ve done some tests with tuber rats, and I believe we’ve had some promising results, enhanced spacial awareness, increased reaction times, and so on.” The doctor paused. “With your permission, I’d like to start with the next batch of tubers.”
“I’ll have to see the results myself,” Chaney said. “Enhanced performance to a rat is one thing, enhancing the performance of a finely tuned human is something else entirely.”
Withers sighed. “As you wish, comrade, we can run more trials here within the next week, what day works for you?” Chaney checked his schedule. He had multiple meetings that week, with the other project heads, with Ballard, and with Penny’s tutors. That little girl takes to math and science like a fish to water.
“Thursday works,” he said. “I have a meeting with Commodore Mendez about the behavior of the Navy’s research and development corps, but that’s in the evening and my morning is free.”
“So be it then,” Withers replied. “I’ll have the trials ready to go that morning.” After ending the call, Chaney returned to his work. We need fewer projects right now and more results. He sighed and closed his computer. The Martian is beginning to show its age. It was five years old at the start of the war, but still state-of-the art in terms of mass-production panzerters. Chaney leaned back in his chair. I hope Thorn comes back with some good intel, because I can already feel our technological edge slipping.
Kennedy leaned back in the chair Irving pulled up for him. With his leg in a more comfortable position, he looked at the data she pulled up on the projection table before him. “So this is what I’ve gathered from the command matrices relating to the Black Knight,” she said. “And I’ve started to see the concern, enough firepower to destroy any of our panzerter’s at range, agile enough to avoid return fire and eel in close quarter battle, and finally enough survivability to withstand whatever we throw at it.”
“So what are your observations?” Kennedy asked. “Because so far you’ve told me things I already learned.” His head throbbed. “The hard way.”
Irving pulled up an image of Kennedy’s Jupiter. “I think you should go back to a base Martian, especially since Fuller was dealt with. We have freed one that should be easier to refit since it needs to be repaired, anyway.”
Kennedy furrowed his brow. “That would give me a significant loss in armor and firepower,” he replied. Irving held up a finger.
“But it would increase your survivability,” she said. “If Tharcian weapons head in the black knight’s direction, then it will be much more important for you to avoid being hit period.” She straightened herself. “And after reviewing most of the combat data, you’re probably one of our best field commanders. We lost a lot of good ones in the initial push, and the last couple months weeded out most of the complacent ones.”
“So I should go back to a Martian, huh?” he said. “Fair enough, but how do we overcome the Tharcians?” Irving sighed.
“I’m not entirely sure,” she said. “We need to be adaptable, we’ve seen all sorts of looks and behaviors from them as time’s gone on, but we need to focus on us while we rebuild.”
As she spoke, Kennedy found himself nodding along. “We’ll be getting new faces,” he said. “They could be vets or green as grass, but either way they
haven’t fought together, and we haven’t fought with them, so we need to train.”
“We don’t cross talk as much as we could,” Irving said. “The Tharcians clearly excelled here.” She pulled up replays from the battle of Ironton. “Look here, these scouts are using mortars to soften the 88th’s forces as they advance, when they get inside the city, infantry ambushes and panzerter fighting positions became the rock they broke themselves against.”
“At the beginning of all of this we caught them flat-footed all the time,” Kennedy said. “We excelled at staying mobile against an enemy that was slow to react and relied on stagnate defensive lines.”
Irving bit her lip. “They changed,” she said. “Trying to advance against them now is like trying to climb a rope made of razer wire.” She pointed at the defensive positions. “They aren’t stagnate, they’re flexible and just as mobile, more like an elastic band then a brick wall.”
“But enough stress and the band should break,” Kennedy said. “That’s how we fight.” Irving shook her head.
“Part of our problem as a division was we attacked along too narrow a front, tried to accomplish too much with a plan that was more complex than it had to be,” she said. “We should have attacked along a broader front and gone after their headquarters and reserve, we focused too much on bypassing the enemy force instead of destroying them, of course this is my fault, I came up with the objectives, I could have told Meyer we should refocus.”
Reaching out, Kennedy took the young woman’s hand. “We live and learn, these mistakes won’t be made again,” he said. Irving smiled.
“We need to return to the mobile battle we excelled at,” she finally said. “From there, we figure out how to avoid incidents like the battle of Ironton.” She shook her head. “Losses like that are unacceptable.”
Kennedy didn’t know whether she meant the battle itself or those who died. Either way, he welcomed her attitude. “Then we’ll comb all of the combat data,” he said. “We’ll look at combat data from other divisions, because we weren’t the only ones who took a hard loss, but I’m sure somewhere we’ll find the keys to win again.”
They poured over the maps and data. The fact the Tharcians knew so much about their plans had played a key role in their defeat, a fact Irving agonized over. “Woody Pete’s still out there,” she said. “He’ll be a problem as long as he is.” Kennedy held up a hand.
“Don’t focus on that,” he said. “We’ve got new counter terror measures coming online, Woody Pete’s little stunt won’t be forgotten, or repeated.” As they spoke, Meyer entered the room.
“Good, you two are here,” she said. “We’ll be getting fresh bodies soon, I want them training as soon as we hit the ground.” Irving nodded.
“We’ll need to refocus on air defense training,” she said. “The Tharcians got their drone fleet back into the air alarmingly quick and on top of that they’ve begun using dropships and gunships on this front.” Meyer looked at Kennedy.
“How’s the leg?” she asked.
“Better,” he replied. “Although I doubt I’m the first half-assed tuber.” His commander smirked.
“Funny,” she said. “They must have included some comedian in your recipe.” Kennedy grinned.
“Only a bit,” he replied. Grimacing as he rose to his feet, he looked at the map one more time. “I’m going to double down on maintenance, our vehicles and weapons need to be in excellent working order when we do hit the field again.” Meyer nodded.
“It’s a good initiative,” she said. “Especially if worst-case scenario, we end up having to defend this city.” Kennedy looked back at Meyer.
“Have you thought about who will replace Fuller?” he asked.
Meyer shook her head. “His XO died in battle, as did most of his company commanders, I may have to move some personnel around to compensate,” she said. “Maybe move Khan over or Snow?”
Kennedy shook his head. “They’re Majors more so because of their combat abilities, and not so much their leadership qualities,” he said. “Knight would’ve been excellent, but- “he shook his head. “It’s a damn shame, really.”
As he left the room, Irving followed him outside. “Shouldn’t you be sitting?” she asked. “Or at least not walking around so much?”
“Whatever it takes to win, Comrade,” he said. “I need to go get a handle on my battalion.” Irving stepped close to him and saluted.
“Well, be careful, the cold can be hard on your joints, especially if they’re healing,” she said.
“It’ll warm up eventually,” he said. “And one day, we’ll celebrate the warm weather with champagne on the golf shores.” As he walked away, he noticed her smile despite trying to look concerned. One day.
“Sir?” Major Starnes asked. “Lieutenant Bartonova would like to see you.” Hausnerr waved a hand.
“Tell her I’ll meet with her before the weekend,” he said. “I’ll be sure to make time for her.” Starnes frowned.
“Sir, she’s here right now,” he said. Hausnerr blinked and checked his schedule. He had a meeting with Markos at 1700, which gave him two hours to sign the stack of papers in front of him and deal with Bartonova.
“You know what?” He said. “Fine, let her in.” Starnes ducked back out of the room and after a brief moment. Lt. Bartonova stepped inside. Smartly, she’d chosen to wear her duty uniform rather than a dress or field uniform. A Green-gray jacket over the same color trousers tucked into black boots. Neatly polished, he noticed.
She gave him a crisp salute, which he stood and returned before they got to business. “Sir, I want a frontline assignment,” she said.
Hausnerr blinked and rubbed the back of his head. “I’d love to, but you see policy makes you a lower priority to go to the front,” he said. “Unless you know, the Union is overrunning this part of Tharsis.”
Bartonova huffed and bit her lip. “My sister joined the Provincial Watch to pay for college. She always thought of herself as a crime scene investigator before a pilot,” she said. “My brother, I understand, but my sister had no business dying the way she did.”
The Marshall sighed. “Your sister died protecting one of her teammates,” he said. “Regardless of how you feel, she died on her own terms.” He stood and set his paperwork aside. “Besides, if you go and get injured or worse, there will be investigations, inquiries, nasty things that affect far more people than you, think of your parents even.”
The pilot before him steeled up. She looked like she wanted to cry, but was forcing herself not to. After a moment, the strain on her face eased. “Well, don’t the Tiger need field testing?”
Hausnerr shifted uncomfortably. “Well, it does, but we’d need to train another pilot and-“
“No, you don’t,” she said. “I’m right here, I’m already trained, you don’t need to waste time training someone else.”
After taking a deep breath, Hausnerr looked her in the eye. “I will not allow you to take the Tiger on some half-cocked revenge tour,” he said. “You’ll do more damage to the Union, training more pilots to fight them, multiply your skills with young incoming cadets.” He held his hands in front of him as he spoke. “You can change the course of the war, simply by doing that.”
With a frown, Bartonova went to a more relaxed position. “I’d rather change the course of the war by shooting down unis,” she said. Hausnerr nodded.
“Most people would, but that’s not all that goes into winning,” he said. “Training, intelligence, planning, logistics, all of these things have a much greater impact on the course of the war then you’re giving them credit for.”
Still not entirely convinced, she saluted and left. After she’d left, Major Starnes returned. “You know sir, you could have just said ‘I’m the marshall, and I said no.’ You really didn’t need to draw that out.” Hausnerr sighed.
“I could have,” he said. “And I would have alienated an amazing pilot, for what its worth I think she deserves to have a shot at ace hood, along with
our other top pilots, but policy is policy, I can’t in good concise order her to the front or allow it to happen.” Starnes nodded.
“That’s…reasonable,” he said. “I’m not used to that out of a Field Marshall.”
He flashed his aide a weary smile. “Get used to reasonable,” he replied. “The old guard tended to make things complicated for no other reason then to say they did something.” Looking back at his papers, he changed the subject. “Any updates from fleet?”
Starnes shook his head. “None so far, I do have some good news though.” He pulled out his tablet. “A refit package for the Iglasio incorporating thermal dampener paint and magnetic weapons, the downside is with our current power supply, there isn’t enough to operate all the weapons.”
Hausnerr rested his head in his hands. “If only they could use a Nuclear Combustion engine like a panzerter,” he said. “Then we wouldn’t have this problem.”
“Well then, they’d probably weigh 75 tons and be too big to move anywhere,” Starnes replied. “On the plus side, things seem to be coming along nicely for us, a few of the field refits for our panzerters are becoming standardized, and our spaceports are moving so much raw material I don’t think we’ll ever be able to use it all with our current industrial base, even as massive as it is.”
“Well, you’re right, that is some good news,” Hausnerr said. He wiped his brow. “I actually find it hard to believe my predecessor wanted this.”
Starnes frowned. “He definitely wanted the attention, but none of the responsibility. When things went well it was all him, when things went wrong it was because someone failed him.” He lowered his tablet. “That’s how it was, when he wasn’t busy sucking up to the president, he was busy getting pandered to by the Defense industries.”
Armored Warrior Panzerter: Eve of Battle Page 30