Cain's Land

by Robert Frezza

  “One, I think,” The Iceman said, after a brief silence. “The monsoon season is filling the reservoirs along the Great River. Destruction of the dams there would cause extensive flooding downstream, and the loss of hydroelectric power and water needed to produce dry-season crops would strain the Blues economically. Collapsing a few dams should attract serious attention.”

  “Drowning a few million people generally does,” Snyman commented dourly.

  “A few tens of thousands, maybe,” Coldewe said “The people downstream will have a fair amount of warning. We'll need to do some computer modeling.”

  Kobayashi spoke. “Destroying dams with shipborne munitions would appear to pose an unacceptable degree of risk.”

  Jankowskie amplified his remark. 'We're talking about targets hundreds of kilometers apart in the middle of the continent. We can probably get one dam, but after that, the Blues will probably get us.”

  Kolomeitsev appeared nonplussed “I assumed that we would place detached nuclear warheads or conventional charges by hand.”

  “Have we ever blown up a dam before?” Snyman asked.

  “It is always nice,” The Iceman said, “to try something new for a change.”

  Synman shook his head. “Those dams are big.”

  “The second dam from the sea, dam B, is approximately 211 meters thick at the base and 318 meters high,” The Iceman agreed.

  Guessing who The Iceman had discussed the idea with, Coldewe turned to Meri Reinikka. “Meri, how feasible is this?”

  Reinikka reached over to turn on Vereshchagin's terminal. “We can't exactly carry around nuclear warheads in our rucksacks. Bear with me if this starts out sounding insane. We fit some of our assault boats with extra flotation cells, mount charges inside, and then drop the boats in the reservoirs with the rig we use to airdrop armored cars.”

  “You're right, it did start out sounding insane,” Coldewe commented “It also ended up that way.”

  “I worked it out.” Reinikka projected a diagram onto the wall. “For dams B and C, which are arched masonry, I'd use six point two tons of tetramethylene tetranitramine--there are better explosives for the job, but that’s what we brought--shaped into a big plate charge. Dam A, the one closest to the sea, is a large, earth-fill gravity dam. That one will take a nuke.”

  “Six point two tons times two-- have that much explosive?” Snyman asked thoughtfully.

  Reinikka nodded. “And more. Karaev and I know you people.”

  Coldewe grinned. “All right. Back to the plan.”

  “We hook the boat to the top of the dam, extend the hydroplanes to give us enough standoff distance for the planar jet to form, and deflate the flotation cells back to front so the boat slides down the water face of the dam. We'll need two people at the top to reel out line, and some people in diving suits to make sure nothing snags. Water is relatively incompressible, and water pressure increases the deeper we go, which will concentrate the shock wave. When we reach a good depth, we bolt the boat to the dam using some of Zuiho's tools for working in vacuum, trigger the timer on the detonators, and get our people out of there.” Reinikka added with a perfectly deadpan expression. “Boats are the most efficient way to move the charges around, unless you want to steal a truck.”

  “How much damage will destroying these dams cause?” Aichi asked.

  “'The gradient energy of a river is dependent on slope. In the highlands between dam C and dam B, there is a slope of approximately 3 percent. This increases to 5 percent between dam B

  and dam A as the highlands drop away, and when we reach the plain, it goes back to a 1 percent slope between dam A and the sea.” Reinikka turned his projection of the Great Valley on its side to show a cutaway view. “You see this in the river’s sinuosity; it’s fairly straight until it hits dam A and then it starts to meander. When you consider the roughness coefficient, which is the hardness of bed and bank material-”

  “Ah, Meri?” Coldewe asked.

  “Oh, excuse me, Hans.” Reinikka grinned. “I got caught up in the poetry in the language of fluxial geomorphology.”

  The truck engine “plucked from the precipice” had turned out to be a rather ordinary rotary, which may have had something to do with a slight grudge that Reinikka held against poets.

  Reinikka projected images of the three dams, side by side.”A couple of days ago, I had Aksu bounce some signals off the bottom to measure reservoir depth. As you can see, the monsoons are filling the reservoirs almost to the top, and another week or so of rains should do it. Between the three dams, we are talking about something like 150 billion cubic meters of water pent up. The Blues have twenty-six-meter levees running the length of the river. If we touch off the dams sequentially, by the time the massed water from the three dams reaches the lowlands and begins to spread. it will be travelling at better than forty kilometers an hour and most of it will be going over the top of those lev ees.”

  Reinikka switched to a three-diniensional view of the Great Valley and began coloring it blue to show how the river would rise. “To answer Major Aichi's question in words, with the river running close to bank full, if we take out two dams, the Blues are deep in mud. If we blow three, they are deeper than deep.”

  Vereshchagin considered. “All right then. We have the virus, the dams, and the contact team.” He looked to see if anyone had anything to add “Are we agreed?”

  The three civilians present were silent

  “Hans, please get with Piotr and work out a plan.” Vereshchagin turned to Pia Szuba. “Dr. Szuba, please prepare an ultimatum for me to transmit”

  Szuba colored, and Simon Beetje came to her rescue. “I am not sure that we know the words for that”

  Vereshchagin smiled. “Let us keep it a simple message then. Unless they return our people and blow up their missiles and the fusion plant, we will attack.”

  “I think that we can convey the sense of it,” Szuba said. “Do you anticipate they will comply?”

  Vereshchagin smiled. “On Earth, it was once deemed appropriate to issue declarations of war. I wish to introduce the custom here.”

  “Capital.” The Iceman said with savage good humor as the meeting ended. “We really should have one of these planning sessions every twenty years.”

  As the people in front of him began to leave, Simon Beetje whispered to Pia Szuba, “He was so calm about it” He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find The Iceman looking at him.

  “For Neighbor’s sake, I hope that this plan works,” Kolomeitsev said amiably. “Occasionally in this business, one is allowed to have personal feelings. Anton feels responsible for Rikki, and there will be the absolute devil to pay if we do not get her back.” The Iceman recalled the ratissage Vereshchagin had ordered on NovySibir that sent most of that planet’s gunmen to the wall. “Anton can be a very unforgiving person if provoked.”

  HIMS Zuiho [4-cloud Rain 14]

  ALTHOUGH NICOLA BOSENAC NORMALLY DID NOT CARRY A ROSARY, FOR SOME REASON he had slipped one into his pocket “Are we at war now?” he asked.

  “First, we will issue an ultimatum,” Vereshchagin replied. “In a few days, we will be certain.”

  “On Earth, they are writing books about you,” Bosenac said carefully, wondering what was in Vereshchagin's heart. '“There is even a play.”

  “Hans reviewed it He described it as 'putrid.' “ Vereshchagin fingered his empty pipe. “One would-be biographer even made his way to Suid-Afrika. My people stuffed him with lies, including a particularly egregious one involving cutting a cherry tree.”

  “Myths are often more comforting than the truth.”

  “I am so tired of the myths,” Vereshchagin said dejectedly. “I have made many mistakes in my life, and I seem to have made most of them here.” He thought for a moment. “Nicola, what

  made you become a priest?”

  “I prayed over it until one day I reread something St Augustine wrote, 'To myself, a heart of ste
el; to my fellow man, a heart of love; to my God, a heart of flame.’ Then, somehow, I knew.” Bosenac shook his head wondering. “No moment has ever been so clear to me, before or since.”

  “You are wedded to your vocation, and in a sense, I became wedded to mine. Perhaps only Piotr remembers, but I wanted to be a teacher. I sometimes look at Simon and wonder how I would have been.” Vereshchagin fell silent.

  “Commissioner,” Bosenac said hesitantly, “is it necessary for us to attack?”

  “The things one does, or does not do, have consequences. In my judgment, it is necessary.”

  “I am told we will destroy three dams on the Great River.”

  “Yes. We will inundate as much as two hundred thousand square kilometers of farmland and forty-three cities.”

  Bosenac found himself speechless for a moment. “Dear God.”

  “We will disrupt transportation and power generation, and we will destroy an incalculable amount of property. We will kill as many as a hundred thousand people.” Vereshchagin's face appeared inhumanly calm.

  “Anton, do you know how horrible this sounds?”

  “Father Bosenac,” Vereshchagin said softly, “we can only strike once with any assurance of success, and I must accurately calculate how hard to strike in order to persuade the Blues. The cost of failing is impossibly high.”

  Some trick of the lighting framed Vereshchagin's head so that for a single irrational instant Bosenac thought he was seeing Lucifer before the Fall. “These are civilians we are speaking of.

  Aren't there rules to war?”

  Vereshchagin stared at him sadly. “My people tell me that the first rule to war is to stay alive, and the second is insure that people shooting at you do not. We often break the first rule, but the second one rarely. I cannot afford to misjudge. I must be as certain as I can.”

  “Anton. God never demands what we are incapable of, and certainty is something that belongs to God, not men.”

  “I am sorry, Father Nicola. In Finland, we would say, Ei se myt toida sopia. It does not appear to fit” Finnish, like Japanese, is a very polite language, and the expression was as polite a way as any to say no.

  When he left Vereshchagin, Bosenac prayed for several hours.. Then breathing deeply, he made his way forward to the ship's armsroom.

  “Father Nick,” Rytov, the armorer, greeted him. He patted his workbench. “Sit down.”

  Bosenac did so. White-haired and serene, Rytov continued fiddling with the electronic sight to a trooper’s rifle, extracting one microchip and replacing it with another.

  No one professed to know Rytov's age for certain. He had witnessed the crack-up as a child and had refused retirement four times. Bosenac guessed he was at least seventy, even with time dilation, although he looked the same as he had when Bosenac first met him a dozen years ago.

  Hans Coldewe refused to make him go as long as he could pass a physical and do his job. Coldewe might have left him behind, but virtually all the people Rytov knew were going, and

  the battalion's other armorers, veterans Rytov had trained, asked him to consider it. Rytov had accepted the mission and the notion of a planetful of blue aliens with the polite disinterest he gave to nearly everything outside his chosen world of weapons, ammunition, and battlefield electronics.

  Seeing that Rytov was unmoved to speak further, Bosenac cleared his throat “How are things going?”

  “Busy. The usual. Mission coming up.” Rytov freed a hand. “It is always the same. You hand out live ammo, and people suddenly find things that need looking after. Reminds me of what you said about foolish virgins.” In the course of a long life, Rytov had taken many things in stride, including a Catholic priest masquerading as an Orthodox pope. He looked up. “You need something, Father?”

  Bosenac swallowed hard “Yes, I was hoping to sign out a pistol.”

  Rytov's eyes narrowed. “'The Imps?”

  Unwilling to speak, Bosenac nodded.

  Rytov relaxed, and pointed to the shelves in back. “Find something you like.”

  Wandering the aisles, Bosenac reached for a back plate and a battery pack and what looked like a modulation unit. Aware that Rytov was oblivious to his activities, he filled his pockets with a motley collection of electronics before finally selecting a small pistol. He returned and showed the pistol to Rytov, who nodded. “You find ammo for it?”

  “I'd rather wait until someone can show me how to use it safely,” Bosenac stammered. “Thank you, very much.”

  Rytov nodded, once again lost in the task at hand “Go with God, Father.”

  Bosenac curtly acknowledged and took his leave from the armsroom, bitterly ashamed of his deception.

  L-Day plus 469 [ 5-cloud Rain 14]

  “NERVOUS?” SECTION SERGEANT MARKUS ALARIESTO ASKED HIS PILOT, CORPORAL ERASMUS VAN Rooyen.

  “Maybe just a little,” van Rooyen admitted. Although a good pilot with ten years service, van Rooyen was new to being shot at.

  “Good. People who don't know enough to be a little nervous make me nervous.” Alariesto checked the tilt-rotor’s position.

  “In another five minutes, we ought to see Aoba and Chokei over the mountains. We promised the Blues an attack.” Alariesto shook his head sadly. “You know, in the old days, the Variag wouldn't have done this.”

  Van Rooyen peered at him. “You think?”

  “Think about what happens if the Blues plaster us. We're using most of our fuel reserve--getting more is a problem—and risking two warships, all for two people.” Alariesto chuckled. “Although if the Blues are sharp enough to do some plastering, Colonel Hans may need to rethink his plans. Anyway, he says rescuing Rikki will appease Captain Raul Sanmartin's manes, and that if we had ever read a story called 'The Luck of Roaring Camp' we would understand.”

  Van Rooyen shook his head “We got to get Colonel Coldewe to stop reading those old books.” He scanned the summary instrument display hanging in front of his right eye, then glanced over at Alariesto. “Think the Variag is making a mistake?”

  “Don't know what to think anymore. Look at poor Simon.”

  “Beetje?”

  “Yeah, Simon. He drops his wife and comes with us to get away. She follows, they spend a year dancing around each other, and he finally goes back to her. Now she kicks him out of her bed. Go figure.”

  Van Rooyen shook his head. “Isn't love grand?” He slowed his airspeed to better time their approach. “Looks like another bad storm brewing. We ought to just beat it.”

  “Every pilot’s dream, flying treetop high, on a dark night on a strange planet in bad weather. Of course, I'm for anything that keeps the Blues from looking up when we're flying overhead.”

  Alariesto spoke to the two recon platoon machine-gun teams who were preparing to act as door gunners. “You awake back there?”

  “All set,” Assistant Section Sergeant Luoto Saloranta assured him.

  Van Rooyen throttled back. “I see camp fires on the ground.”

  The plane's radio clicked, indicating receipt of an incoming transmission. “Kobayashi here. Preparing to commence firing pass. Sergeant Alariesto, please respond.”

  Alariesto touched the transmit button. “Alariesto here. We will follow you in, Aoba.” Seconds later, be got a fix on Myburgh's beacon signal. “Locking on to beacon. five point eight kilometers on a bearing of 277 degrees.”

  “Commencing firing pass. Kobayashi out.”

  Whipping in from the sea over the mountains that joined the two halves of the supercontinent, Aoba and Chokei began launching chicken seed when they were still thirty kilometers out. As the two ships made a high-speed run over the Blue encampments, the deadly rain of fusion-charged particles hit, followed by the lightning flashes of the ships' lasers.

  “God sy dank,” van Rooyen whispered as he watched the deadly fireworks display.

  '“That is our cue,” Alariesto shouted as the transport slipped into position and began tilting
its engines skyward. All around them, the trees lay burning, except for a small patch centered around the beacon. The smoke eddied skyward, and van Rooyen struggled to hold the plane steady in the updraft. The plane's computer automatically adjusted the fuel mixture.

  As the machine gunners in back dropped lines on either side, Alariesto could see flashes of light in the smoldering forest.

  “We're taking fire! Take them out!”

  For two long minutes, the recon platoon machine gunners dueled with surviving Blues who were firing at the plane or the sky or the warships, which were already riding a towering rain squall back out at sea.

  “We have them hooked. Pulling them in,” Private Heunis reported coolly. “One casualty back here.”

  At a nod from Alariesto, van Rooyen lifted the tilt-rotor straight up and began leveling his engines.

  “Doors secure,” Heunis said

  “Get us out of here fast,” Alariesto told van Rooyen, who didn't argue.

  Moments later, Alariesto caught a white flash to the northwest out of the comer of his eye and counted seconds until the shock wave hit. “I think we're all right,” he told van Rooyen who was unnaturally pale.

  Rikki Sanmartin collapsed getting off the plane after it touched down at the camouflaged landing pad the recon platoon had hacked out on the Tabun Bogdo. She woke up smiling nine hours later, starved and utterly spent. Ozawa, still on crutches, talked her into helping identify vegetation zones on the mountain after the vigil over Luoto Saloranta.

  Saloranta, struck by a stray round that went through his face shield, never regained consciousness.

  Chokei also suffered. Following the raid on the satellite network, the Blues had refined their technique, fusing their missiles to explode at a distance. Portions of the unlucky little corvette, with only a fraction of Aoba's external shielding, were exposed to the leading wave of gamma radiation from a blast just when it seemed that both ships had escaped unscathed. Four of her primary crew died, including her captain, Commander Mazaki, and much of the vessel was declared unfit for extended occupation. Aoba's executive officer, Commander Nagahiro, quietly assumed command when the lieutenant-commander who headed up Chokei's alternate crew began exhibiting signs of nervousness.