War World: Cyborg Revolt

by John F. Carr

  II

  This was the first time Fourth Rank Roger Boyle had been invited to attend a Staff meeting. But then, it was also the first time Boyle had been senior Communications rank. Communications Second Rank Davis was still alive, but Haven stone had been hard enough to break Sauron ribs and even dent a Sauron skull. Davis would be in bed for at least a standard week, and on light duty for several more. One more senior Communications officer was fit for duty, but he’d been implicated in a cattle-smuggling venture that had crippled Headquarters communications during the attack.

  For anyone from Firebase Five, it was a week’s journey to the Citadel, through guerrilla-infested country. So Sauron aircraft had been sent out to transport the firebase staff officers. Boyle, as the junior ranker, had no idea why he had been included. He would have preferred to have stayed back at the firebase, following up on suspicious heat signatures picked up by the three low-orbit geosynchronous satellites that covered the Shangri-La Valley. That might put them on the trail of Cumming’s militiamen. Even learning where they had been could help—a few raids on Cummings’ sympathizers might help keep down guerrilla activities.

  Or at least their numbers, as much good as that may do us.

  It was only an unlucky coincidence that this thought came to Boyle at the same moment his eyes met those of Cyborg Rank Köln. The Cyborg’s eyes were large, apparently unblinking, and pale gray. They made one believe the rumor that Cyborgs were telepathic, no matter what the manuals said.

  Has Köln just read my defeatist thought?

  Before the Cyborg could move, First Citizen Diettinger rose. His single eye was quite as arresting as the Cyborg’s two, and drew everyone’s attention.

  “We have much to cover and little time. The Soldiers from the firebases will have to be back at their posts before truenight.”

  “Are you questioning our effectiveness?” It was the Ranker commanding Firebase Two. He was, Roger recalled, one of the more outspoken protestors against Diettinger becoming ruler of the new Homeworld as well as commander of the expeditionary force of Soldiers.

  “You, have seen, Assault Leader, what the guerrillas will do, given half an opportunity. I am not willing to let them do it to you. You would surely give a good account of yourself, you and your escort. But the cattle can afford to lose a thousand men if it leaves Firebase Two without a leader. I will not risk fighting on those terms.”

  Diettinger’s words relieved Roger’s mind considerably about his “defeatism.” If the First Citizen thought that way, Roger was in good company.

  “I beg your pardon, First Citizen,” the Assault Leader said. “I am not ineffective, nor am I reckless.”

  Boyle had heard otherwise, but at this point Diettinger nodded to Deathmaster Quilland. The senior staff rank rose and stepped before the electronic map display.

  Deathmaster Quilland’s legendary brevity did not make a complex topic any simpler, nor did his ability to see hope, or at least opportunity, in everything make bad news any better. That was Boyle’s firm opinion, and considering the twenty-odd long faces around him he knew he wasn’t alone.

  Brigadier Cummings’ missile strike had destroyed formidable percentages of Firebase Five’s remaining strategic delivery systems, fuel stockpiles and other irreplaceable supplies. Personnel casualties had been surprisingly light, thanks to the limited manning of the above-ground facilities, but Breedmaster Caius would have to make the final assessment of potential genetic damage.

  The Haveners had clearly reoccupied Fort Kursk, either bringing strategic delivery systems by covert means or more likely reactivating stored weapons. Most had also evacuated the area of the fort immediately after the Sauron retaliatory strike.

  “As soon as radiation levels dropped to safe levels we landed a Pathfinder Team.”

  The Pathfinders were an elite Cyborg unit that specialized in nuclear attack follow-up. During the state of emergency following the Haven strike, First Rank had reassigned all Pathfinder Cyborgs from fertility testing to active duty. The Fomoria had been fortunate; they had boarded three Pathfinder Teams from among the EVA Commandos before leaving Sauron.

  Quilland continued: “The Pathfinders reported the Haveners had buried their dead, disabled surplus equipment and left the area at least two days ago. Militia casualties estimated to be six hundred effectives.”

  “Are the Pathfinders pursuing?” Cyborg Rank Köln asked.

  “We sent only one squad,” Quilland reported. “They are setting up an observation post in the Fort Kursk area. I accept full responsibility for not having done this before.”

  Diettinger frowned. “We must all accept some share of the responsibility for not having located Fort Kursk’s cache of weapons. We did not expect the cattle to leave so many reserves.”

  “We should have reconsidered,” Köln pointed out, “when we realized that these were cattle of a superior variety, requiring extraordinary measures.”

  “No doubt,” Lady Althene said. “But by that time, the Fort Kursk area was swarming with guerrillas and bandits. Our small garrison was so busy sending out recon and pacification teams that they didn’t fully examine the fort. A larger force would have diverted strength from more important operations.”

  The Deathmaster added, “Such as the northern plains firefight with the horse nomads, the Don Cossacks.”

  “From what seemed at the time more important operations,” Köln corrected.

  Before Diettinger’s one eye could actually start emitting lethal radiation, the Deathmaster interrupted.

  “A company-strength force of cattle infiltrated the area of Firebase Five. Using short-range missiles and infantry weapons, it added considerably to the toll of vehicles and supplies. The perimeter troops, reinforced by mobile patrols, have been pursuing these infiltrators for the last two days. We have killed one hundred and thirty-five of them. No prisoners were taken.”

  “Our own casualties?” the First Citizen asked.

  Köln being quiet seemed, if anything, more sinister than his being loudly insubordinate.

  “Two Soldiers killed in action, fifteen wounded. Ten of the wounded will return to duty within a standard week.”

  “Even against picked cattle—” someone murmured.

  “Thank you, Deathmaster,” First Citizen Diettingers said. He turned to the Weapons officer. “Your report, Weapons.”

  Diettinger kept the reports flowing swiftly from the department heads, then from the firebase and outpost leaders. Somewhere in the middle of the department heads, Boyle gave his communications report, although afterwards he couldn’t have repeated a word he had said.

  He did remember the faces, though, when he reached one point.

  What was it? Oh yes, the point where he said, “Our Sauron capabilities free us from dependence on computers. We are not so fortunate where radar and radio are concerned. We and the cattle both need them.”

  Unhappy faces, and in Cyborg Köln’s case outright unfriendly.

  Diettinger summarized the whole stack of reports in a few sentences, then took his place at the map.

  “We need to take the offensive against the Haven Volunteers. This means going on the defensive against everybody except Fighting First, Cumming’s command, and staying that way until we’ve run the Regiment down. This may take some time. Cummings is an old dog, but he hasn’t lost his teeth.”

  For once, even Cyborg Rank Köln seemed to agree with Diettinger. But turning this strategy into tactical moves took longer than Boyle had expected. It was the ancient problem: if you cannot defend everything, what are your priorities?

  First priority, they finally all agreed must go to the Citadel and the breeding stock—the female cattle already rounded up. They could lose everything else and still survive.

  “In that case, First Rank, may I request that the Cyborgs be permitted to return to active combat duty?” It was Cyborg Köln again, his voice absolutely neutral, with nothing in his body language to give anyone a clue as to his real thoughts.
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  “Breedmaster Caius?” Diettinger asked.

  The keeper of their genetic heritage frowned. “There is a slight element of risk, but an acceptable one. We now have enough Cyborg sperm and tissue samples in viable storage to risk casualties.”

  Köln showed no joy at this, although he must have felt something hearing his dearest wish granted.

  Breedmaster Caius continued. “We also have in viable storage approximately fifty to seventy thousand fertile ova we brought from Homeworld. This is enough for a genetically sound population with Sauron characteristics, if we begin impregnating female cattle immediately.”

  “Do so,” Diettinger ordered.

  “There is one problem,” Caius answered. “We now have less than two thousand female cattle at the Citadel and they are already causing diffculties.”

  Diettinger nodded.

  The housing problem alone, Boyle thought, had almost brought new construction and remodeling at the Citadel to a standstill. In addition, there was the problem of housing thousands of fertile breeders in close proximity to healthy young Soldiers. Already this had resulted in female cattle being smuggled out of the Citadel and into Firebase One, where they had been able to sabotage Primary Communications just before Cummings’ strike.

  “Survey, isn’t there a series of coal mines in the northwestern hills?” Diettinger asked.

  “Yes. There are fourteen small and eight large mines scattered throughout Rhiannon Hills.”

  “Condition?”

  “Most of the mines are played out,” Survey replied. “Two of the larger mines were still in operation at Landing. The rest are repairable. They won’t make comfortable accommodations but they are securable.”

  “Good. Survey, prepare a geological survey of the area, as well as an individual one on each mine and what it will take to make it habitable.”

  “Yes, First Citizen.”

  “Engineering, how defensible is the area? Are there any valleys where we can put in dormitories and defensive fortifications?”

  “There is a natural alcove below the mountains; it would accommodate a battery above the mines. The remaining area is more level than this valley. It shouldn’t be difficult to set up a series of outposts, like we have at the Citadel.”

  “Excellent. Engineering, I want a full report on how many breeders we can house in this valley, and what it will take to turn those mines into breeding crèches.”

  “We have another problem,” Breedmaster Caius volunteered. “If we shift to the defensive mode to free troops for chasing Cummings’ militia, we give up a large part of our territory.”

  “We risk giving it up,” the Deathmaster pointed out.

  “A risk still means it can happen,” Caius replied. “And if it does happen, we also lose a good part of our potential breeding stock. Territory that we might lose, by the latest statistics, contains approximately fifty thousand or more potentially fertile female cattle. We are still developing methods of statistical analysis appropriate for Haven’s conditions, but—”

  Diettinger held up a hand. “With all due respect, Breedmaster, do you have any more questions? The statistics will have to wait.”

  “All right, then, is the Citadel fully defensible now against a determined attack?”

  Diettinger and Deathmaster Quilland exchanged glances, then looked at Lady Althene. All three nodded.

  “Good,” Diettinger said. “Then I recommend we move as much of the breeding stock as possible from the firebases into the Citadel. We can keep them there until we build the new pens.”

  “If the Citadel is already bursting at the seams,” Quilland asked, “why transfer more breeders there from the collection depots?”

  Lady Althene spoke up, “To free our Soldiers to fight, not squabble over rutting rights and guarding women. Also by putting all the fertile female cattle in one place, we hold them hostage to their own fighters. The Haveners will not slaughter their own females to deny us breeding stock. They may try to rescue them. In that case, their forces will have to concentrate in an area where we have both superior firepower and numbers.”

  Not for the first time, Roger regretted the shortage of Sauron women. To reduce a Soldier like Lady Althene to a walking womb went very much against his sense of how Soldiers should live.

  Diettinger nodded. “Then start rounding up the female cattle and move them from the firebases and outposts to the Citadel as quickly as possible. I will appoint a special task force for this operation, under the command of Cyborg Ranks Köln and Zold.”

  Köln actually let an expression appear on his face; it was well known that the two ranking Cyborgs did not get along well. “First Citizen, I urge you—”

  “Cyborg Rank Köln, this is the most essential task at hand for the future of the Race, and it demands the best Soldiers among us.”

  “More urgent than repaying General Cummings for his underhanded attack on Firebase Five?” the Cyborg asked.

  “Yes.”

  Boyle noted that Köln’s face froze when Diettinger pressed home that assignment. Köln had been fuming over the lack of combat duty for his Cyborgs, so he could hardly refuse outright. But assigning those who represented the future of the Sauron race to cattle-herding—

  “Besides,” the Breedmaster added, “I do not expect that the Haven cattle will tamely watch their women being driven off to the Citadel. They will fight the convoys every klick of the way. Your Cyborgs will be fighting off rescue parties from Trinity, Springfield, Falkenberg, Jackpot and a dozen other towns all the way to the Citadel. If it is live targets your men want, they’ll have them coming out of their ears!”

  “The rest of us will have to chase them all over the Shangri-La Valley,” Diettinger added.

  “Unless they think it worthwhile to concentrate before the Citadel,” Lady Althene noted. “If so, they will be concentrating in an area where we have superior firepower and numbers. It will be their last concentration.”

  Cyborg Rank Köln appeared to be convinced; however, Roger wouldn’t have bet the lone pip on his chevron on Köln being happy with his new job as trail boss of a cattle drive!

  Chapter Twenty

  I

  Cyborg Rank Köln left the Staff meeting seething with a rage that all his Cyborg training and discipline could not dispel. For the first time since he had witnessed the death throes of Homeworld, it took him a conscious act of will to calm himself. Köln had requested a return to full combat duty for his Cyborgs and then had that request turned back against him by the First Citizen.

  Cattle drivers! the unvoiced shout ringing inside his head. Worse, the female cattle were to be protected from indolent Soldiers with nothing better to do than mate, mate, and mate again.

  So now it was the Cyborg’s job to herd cattle, rather than mount an offensive against Brigadier Cummings—a worthy opponent. The leader of the only real military opposition on Haven. What skills did it take to remove women from a defeated foe? None that Köln could see.

  Was this a purposeful insult calculated by Diettinger to enhance his own leadership at Cyborg expense? Possibly. The First Citizen had several times, both at the Battle of Tanith and Homeworld, shown an un-Sauron adeptness at improvisation.

  His mind took another turn, when he saw Cyborg Rank Zold striding toward him, as he left the command bunker. Zold had delayed his return to work, as Köln had expected. The Second Rank was watching him closely, looking almost—what?

  Satisfied, Köln decided. Zold would surely be able to sense his distress even as Köln had known of Zold’s presence in the corridor before the Staff meeting. Köln consciously put his emotions under control, and with them the glandular activity and physical signals that might betray him.

  “You continue to neglect your duties at the Citadel, Zold. Are there in fact some things whose future you trust to a Sauron norm such as Over-Assault Leader Helm?”

  “I hoped to inquire as to the subject of the Staff briefing, before returning to Command HQ, Cyborg Rank Köln.” Zold s
aid his words smoothly, unwilling to acknowledge Köln’s barb.

  Köln quickly briefed him on the meeting, including their new duties, expecting an outburst that would get Zold ordered under guard, as well as a number of Sauron norms dead. To his surprise there was none.

  “You appreciate the prospect of such duty, Zold?”

  “No. However, having been presented with this latest absurdity, I do enjoy the prospect of taking action again.” Zold would never have dared to attempt to stare Köln down under any normal circumstance; like his earlier reference to the ramparts positions, this was a signal.

  Köln switched briefly into the Secure Tongue: ‘Taking action,’ Zold, not ‘seeing action’? He had been waiting for this, but knew better than to suggest such a thing himself. Köln knew that Diettinger would purposely push the Cyborgs too far. Things were about to come to a head, but, unlike many of his fellow Cyborgs, Köln had a highly developed sense of self-preservation. His grasp of events and their consequences was second only to that of Lady Althene herself. Who was to have been mated to me, he recalled, and not without a touch of relief.

  He was not one to make his plans or wishes known to anyone, let alone one as rash as Zold. That did not preclude him from using Zold to further his own ends. “What sort of ‘action’ would you consider taking?” he asked. Köln’s tone was conversational, but he spoke in the ghost of a whisper.

  “What sort of ‘action’ would be most appropriate, Cyborg Rank Köln? The path to proper duty stretches clear ahead. Nor am I alone in my estimation of that duty.”

  All Köln needed to do now was to imply solidarity and Zold was his. He nodded. “No, you are not alone. But do understand my position. I alone among the Cyborgs attend all Staff meetings. If I should fall in battle—or otherwise—it is unlikely another Cyborg will be admitted to the Command Staff.