War Dog

by Andrew Beery

  Their plight was made worse when the last missile from our second round exploded a mere five kilometers behind them. The nuclear fireball engulfed the rear of their ship. The radiation alone would have caused serious issues for any of their crew in the compartments near the engines.

  At roughly the same time explosion after explosion occurred in front of the ship. Although these blasts were further away, the sheer number of them and the energy they released, would shred the bogey’s shields.

  This is it, I thought. We have them.

  How wrong I was…

  Chapter 14: Broken Dog

  It seemed whoever was in charge of the last enemy ship, was intent on carrying out their mission, even if it meant their own death. While I had expected them to self-destruct like the other enemy ships had done… I had assumed it would be in the form a massive antimatter explosion.

  It was not.

  Moments after the last of our stealth nukes had gone off… the fourth enemy ship disintegrated. Any other time this would have been a cause for celebration. The ship had shattered into pieces as large as a bus to as small as an office stapler. Each and every one was traveling at near relativistic speeds. Every one of them was on a direct course for the Earth-Moon system… and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it. In four days the Earth would become the latest casualty in a war we didn’t start and barely understood.

  ***

  I had spent the morning on the horn with Admiral Spratt. Lori’s father looked even more haggard than I felt. The Earth Defense Force which was tasked with maintaining the peace in and around the Earth, as well as the Federation, had deployed as many ships as they could. We all knew it would not be enough… not by a longshot.

  Development of the advanced tech that the Galactic Order had provided had barely gotten off the ground. Sadly, given a few years, systems based on the knowledge provided could have easily defended against such an attack.

  The Earth’s best defense remained the Gilboa, but my ship was only being held together with duct tape and a whole lot of praying.

  The ideal solution would be another antimatter bomb to vaporize what was left of bogey four. Sadly, there had only been four in system and they all belonged to the bad guys. The Gilboa’s computer library had the specs for what was called a zero-point bomb.

  The mechanism was easy to build, but to generate enough material to make a big enough boom was going to be an issue given the amount of time we had. The closer we got to Earth, the more of the vaporized bad guy would hit the atmosphere.

  Conversely, the farther away we were the higher the probability most of the enemy debris could be deflected from hitting the Earth.

  Vaporizing the bad guy was not a perfect answer. It wouldn’t be as bad as actually hitting the planet with a solid bit of bad guy the size of a bus… but stripping away half the atmosphere was bad enough.

  “What can we do to make this go faster?” I asked for the umpteenth time.

  The answer was always the same. Not a damn thing. The engineering team was working as fast as they could and if they made even the tiniest mistake, the Gilboa would go up in the brightest explosion ever seen anywhere near earth.

  Given that we could wake-up dead any moment, I decided we needed to pursue other options. We had a stockpile of roughly six thousand nuclear warheads… apparently the Galactic Order folks liked to collect them. It was a good thing that they did, because as it turned out, our zero-point bomb didn’t get completed until days after the debris entered the Earth-Moon system.

  The nukes really wouldn’t do the job as far as vaporizing the stuff heading towards Earth, but it might be possible to push the lion’s share of it out of the direct path of the planet. I had Mitty set up an around the clock schedule for blowing nukes up in front of the debris cloud. At the same time, I recommended that all lunar and LaGrange stations be evacuated.

  Pretty much anything in Earth orbit on the side that took the hit was going to be toast. If we couldn’t deflect enough mass, Earth was fix’n to step back into the dark ages… and that’s if she got very lucky.

  To say there was a panic on my homeworld was an understatement. Everything that was space-worthy or could be made space-worthy was loaded and flying. Riots ensued as the lower classes, without the means to escape the coming apocalypse, began to seize the last remaining transports. There was a complete and utter breakdown of society.

  Even if the worst of the coming threat was dealt with… humanity on the planet Earth would never be the same. I didn’t know it at the time, but that was a good thing. Sometimes adversity raises up leaders that might not have otherwise shined brightly enough to be seen. A nobody, from the backwoods of Kentucky, named Robert Kimbridge was just such a man.

  Twelve hours out from Earth, we finally ran out of nukes. Admittedly, the last several hours of our days-long effort would not serious affect the outcome. We were simply too close to Earth at this point.

  The good news, if there was any, was that the bulk of the relativistic debris from bogey four had been deflected away from Earth itself. Oh, don’t get me wrong, they were still going to get a royal pasting, but it would not be nearly as bad as it could have been.

  The moon was not so lucky. At 14:53 Greenwich time in the year 2151, three large pieces of bogey four impacted Earth’s only natural satellite. A full three percent of the moon’s mass was ejected into space. Much of it would fall back to the moon but sizeable pieces would remain in orbit for several centuries… creating a minor ring around the planet.

  Earth wasn’t massive enough for the tidal forces exerted on the lunar fragments to form a permanent ring. Instead, the pieces would either float out into space, fall back into the moon or crash into the Earth as lunar asteroids.

  I suppose it might be beneficial for me to explain, briefly, what happened to my homeworld in the aftermath of the attack.

  A German philosopher named Friedrich Nietzsche once said, ‘That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.’

  The Bogey Four Event, as it came to be called, would be a seminal turning point for humanity. The realization that there were threats out there in the deep dark of space, that dwarfed the petty squabbles that we had amongst ourselves, proved to be a powerful motivation for planetary unification. As I said before, in the face of adversity, some men rise to the occasion and become powerful leaders. They were the very embodiment of Nietzsche’s declaration.

  Earth wasn’t killed by the destruction that rained down on her that day, but it had been close. Many died and would continue to die as the world struggled to put itself back together.

  The majority of the larger strikes hit open water. At the speeds the debris was traveling, even objects no bigger than a baseball could flash vaporize tens of thousands of gallons of water.

  Tsunamis ravaged every coastal city on the planet. In some cases, entire countries simply ceased to exist. Tens of millions died in the flooding alone. Those coastal cities that did survive found themselves without electricity or basic services.

  From a power and infrastructure point of view, the United States, Europe and Africa fared the best. Each of these areas no longer used power grids for energy distribution. Instead they relied on small, local liquid thorium power generation systems. South America and the Russian Republics did not fare as well. Oligarchies, with vested interests in maintaining the status quo, stood in the way of many innovations. Their people paid a deep price for their leaders’ short-sightedness.

  The Bogey Four Event meant the mean temperature of the oceans rose by four tenths of a degree Celsius. That doesn’t sound like much, but Methyl hydroxides, long buried on the ocean floor near the coastlines, began bubbling up… dumping thousands of metric tons of methane into the atmosphere.

  Methane is twenty times as powerful as carbon dioxide as a greenhouse gas. The result could have been a run-away thermal event that would have made the mass-extinction of the dinosaurs look tame.

  Fortunately, two factors came into play that sa
ved Earth. First, enough dust and debris were kicked up into the atmosphere, especially by those strikes that occurred on land, that the planet actually experienced an extended period of cooling. Second, we now had access to Galactic Order terraforming technology. That technology would now become a lifeline for saving us.

  In some ways, we got very lucky. The major industrial centers were not heavily damaged. In addition, the Federation shipyards were on the far side of the planet when the Earth-Strike occurred. This allowed the most critical recovery efforts to proceed quickly.

  My father-in-law, Admiral Spratt issued emergency orders prioritizing repairs to the Gilboa. In short order, over two thousand technicians were crawling over her hull… repairing damage and enhancing systems as they went.

  Most of these technicians had received Da’Tellen training. The work on the Gilboa would be good practical experience for them. One the Gilboa was fully operational, a new united Earth would begin a crash program to develop her own starships. The first vessels would be small, especially compared to the massive Gilboa but Earth would never allow herself to be defenseless again.

  ***

  Three months after the attack on Earth, the Gilboa was once again ready to venture forth. We had taken the opportunity to make a number of enhancements. The J’ni were beside themselves with the changes but once you gave them a set of schematics they could follow, they settled right down.

  We decided that we would invite twenty of the J’ni to stay on Earth and help with the integration of Galactic Order technology with human fabrication limitations. I was sad to see J’ni Maktoo volunteer along with his spouses. I had grown accustomed to the Racoon-like critter.

  I couldn’t understand a word he said without a translation device… but he liked coffee so that made him aces in my book.

  In exchange for the J’ni, we got two more companies of Marines as well as replacements for the ones that had died in battle. I made sure that the families of the men and women lost knew, in no uncertain terms, that they had bought the Earth’s survival with their sacrifice. I presided over the unveiling of the Gilboa Seven. A memorial that honored the fourteen Marines, in seven fighters, that valiantly took on a ship a thousand times their size… and secured victory for us.

  The six survivors each received a promotion two grades above their current rank. In addition, they were offered full retirement with benefits or a chance to remain on active duty and take command of one of the sixteen new squadrons being established on the Gilboa. To a man (or woman) they chose to stay on active duty. I was told by one of them that there was a debt owed. We still had no idea who the enemy was but there would be a reckoning when we met them again.

  ***

  Admiral Spratt and I spent a lot of time together as the Gilboa was being repaired. There was a lot to talk about. I even got to meet my doppelganger. I have to admit, seeing a man who was in every way my twin was a bit unnerving. The whole name issue became problematic. We started referring to each other by rank… and then the Admiralty board screwed that up.

  The newly promoted Admiral Jeremy Riker – the original – was heading up something called Operation Diaspora. The idea was to get some of humanity out of the nest and into the stars. This way, even if Earth was destroyed… the human race would survive. In many ways, I envied my brother from an actual mother. He was going to get to be an explorer. I was relegated to becoming a warrior.

  It took a few weeks to get things moving on Earth again. The Admiralty Board had seized effective control of Earth via a general declaration of Martial law. The old power structures recognized that a divided Earth was not up to the task of defending itself from an Interstellar threat.

  There were those rulers that wanted a unified world government with them as the head. The aforementioned Oligarchs were a prime example. The masses quickly quelled that movement. They remembered being left high and dry in the days before the Bogey Four Event.

  My orders and objectives were clear. Earth needed to know who our new enemy was. We needed to know what motivated their attacks… and we needed to know how to stop them.

  While I was now an officer in the Galactic Order, I was also a human being. This presented me with a potential conflict in priorities. I spoke with Mitty and Shella about the problem. Mitty’s wife assured me that like all males – regardless of the species in question—I was being foolish.

  In her role as Ambassador, Shella met with Admiralty board and recommended the United Earth Alliance establish formal diplomatic relations with the Galactic Order. In this way, the interests of Earth would be co-equal with the interests of the Galactic Order. In short, we would defend each other and my role as Admiral of the Fleet for the Galactic Order would mean I also had a responsibility to protect the interests of my home planet.

  Chapter 15: To Boldly Go Where No Dog Has Gone Before…

  “Admiral on the bridge!” My new First Officer yelled as I stepped out of the turbo lift.

  “As you were,” I said. Ever since the crew compliment of the Gilboa had tripled, things had gotten more formal. I missed the causal shifts where the only people on the bridge were personal acquaintances.

  My new First Officer was a woman named Commander Elena Shelby. She seemed to be of mixed Indian and African descent.

  I knew immediately that she was going to be a problem. Not because she wasn’t an excellent officer… she was. Her problem was she was an exotic beauty. This wasn’t her fault and to be honest, there wasn’t a man alive who would ever complain. One look at her tended to have those of us that could grow beards dropping our jaws.

  Don’t think for a moment that Lori failed to notice the reaction of every male on the bridge including a certain Admiral that was already spoken for. I think it tainted her view of my new First Officer. It would be several months before the ice sheet between them would thaw… all it took was a near death experience and a single bottle of beer… but that’s a story for later.

  The problem with Shelby was her perception that others didn’t take her seriously because of her attractiveness… or that her rapid rise through the ranks was a result of her looks and not her God-given abilities. Actually, neither was the case. Admiral Spratt had assigned her to the Gilboa because she was the best candidate for the job.

  Because Shelby questioned whether people respected her abilities, she compensated by being a by-the-book, tough as nails stickler for the rules, taskmaster… both for herself and for those in her command.

  My problem was that a First Officer is intended to be my interface with the crew. If they were terrified of her, she could not perform that function. The whole affair was complicated by the fact that, as you may have noticed, I’m not a by-the-book type of guy.

  I decided to handle the situation by setting an example that would be hard to ignore. Two technicians followed me onto the bridge.

  I pointed to a space between the sensor console and the Ambassador’s observation station. It was a small, recessed, alcove that functioned as a micro-galley. It could provide water, coffee, tea and various food bars for those times when it was impractical to leave the bridge.

  “Install the new equipment there, men. Make sure its locked down tight. It’s not the type of thing we want flying through the bridge should we get in a firefight again.”

  As I expected, Commander Shelby walked over to my command chair.

  “Begging the Admiral’s pardon. I wasn’t aware of any additional systems to be installed on the bridge.”

  “Not to worry, Commander. It’s a mission critical piece of equipment that’s being installed per my personal orders… and with the expressed approval of the Admiralty board.”

  “Very good, Sir,” Shelby said with just a hint of curiosity in her voice.

  I actuated the bridge log recorder on my command chair. Admiral Spratt had made me promise to record her reaction when she realized what was being installed. She did not disappoint.

  Fifteen minutes later I was enjoying a fresh bag of popcorn.

&
nbsp; ***

  Aside from a few trivialities, like a popcorn machine, the Gilboa received a number of significant upgrades. She was no longer even in the same class as the broken and damaged ship that had crawled into the Sol system almost a year ago. It seemed, given the same basic knowledge, that humans were far more adept at innovation than many (if not most) of the other members of the Galactic Order.

  The twenty-one J’ni that remained on the ship held the human engineering staff in almost religious awe. I began to wonder if the aliens were going to begin to think of themselves as second-class engineers. The thing was, they weren’t. Not by a long-shot. The little buggers were far more adept at detecting and diagnosing a problem then humans were.

  It wasn’t at all unusual to see one of them stop in the middle of the hall… place a hand on the deck plating or a wall and then go scampering off to fix some doohickey three decks away. It was almost like they communed with the great ship at a spiritual level.

  Still, it became obvious that there were the beginnings of a cultural rift developing between the humans and the J’ni. A rift, that if left unmanaged, threaten the efficiency of ship operations.

  I sat down with Shelby and Whiskers to discuss the issue. After several cups of coffee and a half-sipped tea we hit upon a possible solution. It turns out Shelby didn’t like coffee—what can I say? God still loves sinners.

  Maybe it was her bringing a female perspective into the mix… or maybe it was the strange way her mind worked – not liking coffee and all—but it was my new First Officer that came up with the winning solution. Let the J’ni own, lock-stock-and-barrel, those things they were uniquely suited to handle. Recognize their contributions and affirm their value to the crew and mission.

  Frankly, I’ve never been a touchy-feely type of guy. My way of motivating the troops usually involved a boot and a subsequent visit to the proctologist. Lori had suggested I develop my interpersonal skills. She might have a point. For all I knew a solid kick to the behind might be the start to a courtship ritual with the J’ni… I was still having nightmares about the reproduction ceremony Lori had been invited to attend.