Von Neumann’s War

by John Ringo

  “Dr. Reynolds?”

  “Yes, Alice?”

  “Please do me a favor and promise not to speak that way in front of my daughter. She’s incorrigible enough as it is,” Alice scolded him politely.

  “Right, sorry,” Roger said with a sheepish laugh. “Anyway, these things appear to fly in a broad sweeping disoriented array then conglomerate when they get close to the planet and all land at the same place. Loosely speaking.”

  “Sounds right,” Tom agreed with a nod. “That’s why the Hubble didn’t pick up any of the mass prior to landing. For that matter, Spacewatch probably would have spotted it if it was solid.”

  “Yeah, but what makes no sense to me is why they don’t just land all over the place like Traci said. Why would they care?” John asked, fingering his tie-clip and looking at the ceiling. “It would give them broad coverage, they could spread out faster… Landing in one spot makes no sense.”

  “You know, I have no clue. That’s alien motivation for you.” Roger wiped his hands on his napkin, removed his ball cap, rubbed his fingers through his brown hair thoughtfully, and put his cap back on.

  “I never thought of it that way,” Traci said with a grin at Roger. “Now we’re supposed to read alien minds.”

  “It ain’t hard to figure out,” the master sergeant said. “Sir, you want to handle this?” he added, tipping his beer to the major and leaning back.

  “Right you are, Master Sergeant,” Shane said solemnly. Gries finished off his beer with a burp and waved his glass at the young brunette waitress at the bar, then pointed at the near empty pitcher on the table while holding up one finger.

  Roger laughed.

  “I’m looking forward to hearing this.”

  “You see, Doc, this is why you need us,” Major Gries said, pointing at the sergeant and himself. “Just like there’s a logic to all your rocket science stuff, and calculation to why you can’t see that bump on the Moon, there’s a logic and precise calculation to combat. The enemy action plan is simple: it’s a limited frontage assault. It’s the wildest damned LFA I’ve ever seen, but that is what it’s. When you perform an assault, especially on a protected front where you have limited access of movement, you have to push as many fighters into the AC—”

  “What’s an AC?” Alice asked curiously.

  “Hah, you guys have got all your acronyms but the military invented them!” Cady said, grinning.

  “Access corridor,” Shane said, shaking his head. “The idea is to push as many fighters into the AC as you can. Think about the landings at D-Day; we pushed as many soldiers onto the beach as there was room for them. You don’t even consider full logistics for the forces, since you know they’re going to be attrited.” Gries stopped for a breath as the waitress showed up with a new pitcher.

  “Attrited?” Alice asked again, frowning.

  “A bunch of ’em are going to be dead and don’t need any more food,” Master Sergeant Cady said. “Ever.” He started to pour from the pitcher and got a slap on the hand.

  “That’s her job,” Roger, Alan and Traci chorused.

  “Oh,” Cady said, then grinned. “Now that’s what I call service!”

  “Okay,” Shane continued, sipping his replenished draft. “If there is an entire planet I’m going to attack, the action plan would be to action the enemy’s system with either distributed force systemology or direct action—”

  “Now you’re just making shit up,” Roger said, shaking his head.

  “He’s not, he’s not,” Cady said, shaking his own. “This is how he always talks when he starts lecturing about killing shit. It’s all ‘action plan’ this and ‘directed force structure’ and ‘attrition phase’ and whatever.”

  “And those are?” Alice asked, leaning back and putting her hand over her mouth as her eyes crinkled.

  “What we’re gonna do to the motherfuckers,” Cady responded, ticking off his fingers. “What guys are gonna do it and the part where we’re trying to kill them faster than they’re killin’ us.”

  “As I was saying,” Shane said, clearing his throat. “If I was going to attack a planet, I’d either… screw around with them for a while using guerilla forces and then take ’em down or I’d drop a bunch of… personnel on one spot and spread out from there. Distributed force systemology or directed action. Since you can’t sneak down and infiltrate, assault is your best approach. Besides, if you’ve got the force and don’t care about casualties, it’s much more guaranteed. If you’ve got the steam press, crush the walnut.”

  “Shock and awe, sir!” Thomas added.

  “The more you use, the fewer you lose,” Gries added with a nod at the noncom. “It also shows that they anticipate defense. They’re, I’d say, definitively hostile to whoever holds the real estate. If they didn’t anticipate defense then, yeah, it would make sense to drop all over. Since they don’t, I would say that is definitive indication that they are hostile entities. The thing I don’t understand is why they didn’t land on the far side of the Moon where we couldn’t see them. That’s right isn’t it, the far side of the Moon is always pointed away from us and we have no idea what’s happening there without an orbital probe?”

  “That’s right,” Traci answered.

  “Good point, Shane. Why didn’t they do that?” John asked.

  “Where did they land?” Alice asked.

  “Well, it looks like they landed right in the middle of the Mare Vaporum, the Sea of Vapors,” Traci said.

  “Yeah, for some reason that rings a bell with me, but why I’m not sure,” Roger added.

  “Well, for whatever reason, and I’m sure you’ll figure it out, they wanted something there and put as many troops on the ground as they could manage in a seriously short manner,” Shane said. “Standard combat tactics is what it is. I now conclude my lecture on combat assault. Questions? Comments? Concerns? There will be a quiz at the end of the session. You see, Doc, there is a good reason to have us around.”

  Roger held up his glass in salute to the major.

  “Shane, I never once meant to imply that we didn’t need you. In fact, the reason I got into this business was to do everything I could — the chicken shit that I am — to protect and help the guys like you and Thomas here.”

  Thomas and Shane held up their glasses in response. All followed.

  “Here, here!”

  “Well, we’re going to start seeing tomorrow,” Shane said, grinning. “Alan’s armaments team has some ideas it wants to trot by me.”

  “We’re going to knock your socks off!” Alan promised.

  “We’ll see,” Shane replied, shrugging. “I’ve rarely seen a first generation idea out of you eggheads that worked.”

  “I aren’t no egghead,” Alan protested, waving at the others at the table. “That’s them thar. I’s just a high-tech redneck!”

  “That’s even scarier,” Alice said, shaking her head. “I can just see your idea of a presentation. ‘Hey, y’all, watch this!’ ” She paused for a moment and frowned.

  “I’ve been thinking about the Asymmetric Soldier concept, too. I’ve got a few ideas, now that we know they’re likely to be cyber systems, that might come in handy.” The stereotypical soccer mom paused and picked up a wing. She stripped the meat off expertly and dipped it in hot sauce.

  “Hey!”

  “I said I don’t care for Hooters,” Alice said, primly. “I didn’t say I’ve never been in one.”

  Chapter 11

  “Nice test range here,” Shane commented about the missile and munitions firing range on the southwest end of the Arsenal. “So what are we going to see, Alan?”

  Alan led Gries and Cady to an M240B set up on a tripod that was hard-mounted to a concrete slab. The range was set up in a valley behind two small hills on the Arsenal and was surrounded by a pasture and a pine grove.

  “The range-to-target there is about four kilometers.” Alan pointed down range. “I assume y’all are familiar with the M240B machine gun?”


  “Top?” Gries said, bowing to the NCO theatrically.

  “Yes, sir,” the master sergeant said, clearing his throat and taking a position of parade rest. “Listen up, you yard birds! The M240B is the primary platoon fire support weapon of the United States Army Infantry Units of Action, Special Operations and other units required from time to time to bring direct lethal fire upon the enemies of Good! This ultimate killing machine is a belt-fed, air-cooled, gas-operated, fully automatic chooser of the slain that fires from the open bolt position. This weapon of precision dee-struction spits out ammo like hail, spell that as you wish, with an adjustable cyclic rate of fire six hundred and fifty to nine hundred and fifty rounds per minute! It has a sustained rate of fire of one hundred rounds per minute given four to five round bursts and one barrel change every ten minutes. This harbinger of the apocalypse…” He paused and looked at Alan sharply. “What is the name of this weapon, yard bird?”

  “The M240B, si — sergeant!” Alan said, grinning.

  “This harbinger of the apocalypse.” Cady continued, nodding at Alan as if he was a not-particularly-bright but well-favored pupil, “weighs twenty-seven point two pounds, unloaded. One one-hundred round ammunition box weighs seven point two pounds for a fully loaded weight of thirty-four point eight pounds. The barrel of the M240B killing machine, thanks to the fine designers at FN Manufacturing Incorporated and your good Uncle Samuel, is provided with four grooves with a uniform right-hand twist, one turn in twelve inches giving its seven point six two caliber bullets a buh-listering velocity of twenty-eight hundred FEET per second and a stabilizing spin enabling you, the operator, to precisely target the enemy at up to eight hundred meters and engage groups of the enemy at up to eighteen hundred meters! You may consult FM three dash two two point six eight for further information on this master weapon of all master weapons, this Valkyrie in human form, this brutal engine of total annihilation the… M!… Two!… Four! ZEEEEEEEROOOOOO… B!”

  “Damn, that was something,” Alan said, his eyes wide. “Can you do that with any weapon?”

  “Yes, sir!” the master sergeant barked. “Any weapon in the infantry inventory to include specialties in Eleven Mike and Eleven Charlie as well as Eleven Bravo, sir!”

  “What the hell are those?” Alan asked.

  “Bradley, mortars and general gun bunnies,” Shane said, grinning. “We’ve won a lot of money off that memory and knack for weapons statistics, haven’t we, Top?”

  “Damn straight, sir,” the NCO confirmed, his dark face splitting in a broad grin as he dropped out of the tight position of parade rest.

  “Well, so you said that the point target effective range was about eight hundred meters, right?” Alan asked, a tad maliciously.

  “That’s right,” Cady affirmed.

  “Care to be proven wrong?” Alan added.

  “How?” Shane asked, frowning.

  “This is a standard M240B,” Alan replied, waving at the weapon. “And that target down there is at approximatedly three thousand meters. It’s locked in, don’t fiddle with the aiming. Just fire off a few bursts. The major and I will watch here on this monitor at how well you do.”

  “I can tell you what’s going to happen,” Cady said, kneeling to look through the sight. “They’re going to impact about halfway between us and the target, based on this aiming and the lay of the land.”

  Alan smiled and pointed Shane to the monitor in a weapons van parked behind the firing pad. He thumbed the walkie-talkie that had been snapped to his belt.

  “Range clear? Range clear?” Alan asked. When no one replied he keyed back in, “Range clear, we’re firing, firing, firing!”

  Cady shrugged, then made himself cozy with the weapon. BBBBRRRRRRRR BBBBRRRRRRR! The weapon ripped out a series of bursts, all but one exactly five rounds. When he stopped he still had plenty of belt.

  “Wheew!” Gries whistled. “Top, come look at this,” he added, shouting out the back door of the van.

  Alan stood back for the two men to get a good view of the monitor displaying the target. The target was a half-meter square metal plate hung from a metal rack in front of a dirt backstop. The square metal plate was full of holes, all within the central third of the half-meter square. More than fifty holes were in the plate and all could be covered with a sheet of notebook paper. There was more hole than metal left in the center of the plate.

  “You said that was three clicks?” Sergeant Cady asked in awe.

  “That’s right,” Alan grinned like an opossum.

  “How the hell?” Major Gries stepped back over to the weapon and began examining it closer. “It looks the same to me. What gives?”

  “Well, sir, look at the belt. The rounds look funny. I didn’t want to say anything before; I figured it was part of the show,” Cady replied.

  “They look like hollow-points or something,” Gries said.

  “Close,” Alan answered. “They’re miniature jet engines.”

  “Like Gyro-jets?” Cady asked. “Those things were inaccurate as hell.”

  “No, not like Gyro-jets,” Alan said exasperatedly. “Hell, everybody always asks that!”

  “What are Gyro-jets?” Gries asked. “And whatever they are, how the hell does this work? And why didn’t I know about it with what I was doing?”

  “Here, look at this.” Alan reached in the van and pulled out a cut-away version of the round mounted on a board. “The round has an intake vent in the nose that forces the air through the vent down to the throat of the engine here, then the tail is a diverging rocket, er, jet nozzle. The flow of air is accelerated out the back, giving the round a maintained velocity of about Mach three point four. Since the round is spun, it’s therefore stabilized and the acceleration thrust vector cancels out lateral motion so it forces the round to stay on a straight-line path. There’s a crosswind effect, but even that’s muted.”

  “Wait a minute. A jet engine? Where is the fuel?” Gries asked.

  “Oh that. Roger or Tom could really explain it to you in detail, but it turns out that once the intake flow reaches speeds of Mach one or above the flow is continuously accelerated out the back without added energy,” Alan explained.

  “That sounds like perpetual motion,” Cady said.

  “Oh no, not at all. It really is just a phenomenon of supersonic flow dynamics. Scientists and engineers have known about this for at least three quarters of a century or longer. The velocity of a supersonic flow increases in a diverging nozzle.”

  “Well, where do they get the initial energy from then?” Cady asked.

  “You said it yourself, Sarge. The muzzle velocity is twenty-eight hundred feet per second. The powder in the round does that for us. Twenty-eight hundred feet per second is about Mach two point nine at sea level. So we see that the shell actually sped up before it got to the target.” Alan sounded giddy.

  “Ain’t that some shit, sir?” Sergeant Cady added.

  “How much range do these things have, Alan?” the major asked.

  “Well, we don’t know. They’ve only been test fired here. We need to take them out to the desert somewhere and really test them. My guess is that sooner or later they’ll reach a speed or spin that the round can’t handle and they’ll just fly apart. But how far and how fast, I dunno.”

  “Alan, this doesn’t feel like any kind of metal,” Cady said as he rubbed the tip of a round on the belt between his thumb and forefinger.

  “That’s because it’s not metal. The nozzle design is too intricately detailed. There are side vents and stuff that I didn’t get into. And trust me, we don’t need to get into the CFD on this thing. But…”

  “CFD?” Cady asked.

  “Computational fluid dynamics. It’s a horrendous amount of math,” Alan said.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh. Anyway, the damned rounds are so complex that we have to build them one at a time in a laser rapid prototyping machine.”

  “What the hell is a laser rapid prototyping machine?” Gries felt
behind the curve. Alan was indeed knocking his socks off. He wished he’d spent more of his time working with stuff like this, rather than some of the silly shit he’d been chasing. Although Geckoman was still really cool.

  “Well, you see you design your widget up in this special CAD software. I use SolidWorks. Then you upload the file into this machine. The machine sprays a layer of this ceramic dust onto a hard steel surface and a laser beam is focused onto the powder. Wherever the part is supposed to be solid, the powder is solidified. The first solid layer is about ten microns thick. Then another layer of dust is sprayed on and the laser solidifies the next layer to the already solid layer. This is done until the complete part is finished. It takes about ten seconds per round.”

  “I’ve never heard of anything like that,” Gries said.

  “Actually, sir, I have,” Cady interrupted.

  “Yeah?”

  “Back about ten years ago I saw this thing on the Speed channel where these fellows were building a race-car engine the exact same way. They started out with a blueprint in a computer and some ceramic dust and ended up with an engine block a few minutes later. They put in pistons and hooked up a distributor and all to it and cranked the thing right up. I remember thinking then that if this technology ever got big it would put a lot of folks out of jobs,” the sergeant explained.

  “You got that right, Master Sergeant,” Alan said, chuckling. “The rapid prototyping technology has been around about fifteen years or so, maybe longer, but is just now getting developed to a useful level of application. I imagine that show you saw was a state-of-the-art system back then.”

  “Hey y’all, let’s go inside the hangar here. I’ve got more to show you.” Alan locked up the van and led them to the hangar just down the footpath from the range.

  * * *

  “Now here’s one that I think might be useful during the ground occupation phase of an ET attack.” Alan Davis showed Major Gries the small missile launcher system attached to the back of a Humvee. “The system implements the miniature nuclear bomb called the W54 warhead, which was designed to fire from the Davy Crockett launcher. It was deployed by the United States during the Cold War and was to be used on advancing Soviet troops if the need were to arise. This missile isn’t actually a nuke here, but we should make as many real ones as we can, I think.”