Von Neumann’s War

by John Ringo

  “What the hell is that?” Roger asked, dazzled, confused and awed. They had created this… this… wonderful, glorious nightmare.

  “Excited gas,” Tom said after a moment. “It’s a good thing there aren’t people up there or they’d be choking to death. The laser shoots a probe. Probe breaks up. Falls towards projector. Laser cuts it again. And again. Before long you’ve mostly got gaseous metal. That blocks the laser. We should have thought of that. Not sure what we could have done.”

  “Wind generators,” Shane said instantly. “Big damned fans. Blow it away. Maybe something like ceramic jet engines.”

  “See, this is why I wanted to stay,” Roger said. “To watch. Not just for kicks, mind you. But… Damn, this is…”

  “Apocalyptic?” Tom finished for him. “Certainly awesome. But… ah…”

  Suddenly, the laser stopped tracking. And in seconds, the video went dead.

  “And that’s that,” Tom said, sounding almost satisfied to have the laser finally die. “At some point, the oxygen level was going to drop too low for the generators—”

  “Told you we should have used nukes,” Alan pointed out. “No problem there.”

  “And so it goes,” Shane added. “Monte Sano Mountain falls at last.”

  “Yeah, but those aren’t the only projectors we have,” Roger said, smiling faintly. “Here comes… Weeden.”

  Monte Sano Mountain had two projectors. Atop Weeden Mountain, which sat in the middle of the Arsenal, there were nine.

  * * *

  There were actually three peaks to the ridge that ran down the center of the arsenal: Weeden Mountain, Madkin Mountain and Ward Mountain. None of them technically met the definition of a mountain, since none of them rose to more than six hundred feet over the surrounding terrain and barely 1200 feet above sea level. On the north was Ward, the lowest at barely 900 feet, then Weeden then Madkin, both at 1200 feet. Ward had one battery of one thousand “mine” rockets and a laser projector. Ditto Madkin. The rockets on Ward Mountain faced north, the rockets on Madkin faced south. On Weeden, centermost, there were two batteries, east and west, and seven projectors. These three peaks, overlooking NASA Marshall Space Flight Center, the Arsenal and Huntsville itself, held the hopes and dreams of the survival of the human race.

  Most of the critical equipment for Asymmetric Soldier had been moved into newly dug tunnels in Weeden Mountain. But the major facilities, the buildings and shops scattered across the Arsenal, were nearly impossible to replace. Holding the probes at the line of the Arsenal border was, therefore, a high priority.

  The main defense command center was located in Weeden as well, in a heavily reinforced bunker buried in the heart of the mountain. Since the day when General Riggs had pointed out that “we’re not part of FORCECOM,” things had changed. Besides commanding the Arsenal he now had under his direct control a brigade of light infantry from the 82nd Airborne Division. And, of course, Shane Gries’s “special security detail.” The brigade was scattered around the mountain, holding critical positions in the hopes that they could stop the probes if they broke through the main defense line. But the main doors to the command center were held by the short platoon under Major Gries.

  Which was why Jones and Mahoney were watching the fun from a bunker just to the north of the main entrance.

  “Security Team,” Gries said over the speaker behind them. “Listen up. Probes have hit the Monte Sano Mountain defenses. Expect to have them in sight over the mountain in about five minutes. Out.”

  “It’s gonna be dark soon,” Jones growsed. “How the hell are we suppose to shoot these things in the dark?”

  “All life is the darkness of the cave through which we, as searchers, must stumble using only the reflected reality of truth as, as such, a figure shown upon the wall,” Mahoney intoned.

  “You’ve been reading again, haven’t you?” Jones said, sighing. “What is it this time?”

  “Plato,” Mahoney admitted. “But he’s got a point. What is Truth? Is it, in fact, truth that we will see the enemy in a bare five minutes? Are they even reality?”

  “The reality is that you’re going to have a carbon ceramic knife cut your throat if you don’t quit reading philosophy,” Jones snapped. “The reality is that if these things take out the mountain we’re gonna be walking to the next redoubt. So pay attention to your sector.”

  “Don’t I always?” Mahoney said. “And, in fact, it turns out that the captain’s estimate was illusion.”

  “Huh?” Jones said, leaning towards the firing slit to get a glimpse in the direction Mahoney faced. Mahoney’s position faced northeast whereas his faced due east. And there, to the northeast, was a glittering wall of metal shining above the distant mountain in the light of the dying sun, a red cloud of an approaching storm as pregnant with menace as any hurricane wall. “Damn.”

  “Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Mahoney said, cocking his M-240R. The R version of the machine gun was a special modification of the local machine shops. A water-filled shroud surrounded the barrel for the purpose of cooling. The fire rate of most modern machine guns was limited by the fact that when fired at high rates the barrel and breech would overheat. This caused various unpleasant effects from jamming to “cookoff” of the ammunition as it touched the super-hot breech to barrel warping, which could cause an explosion. Modern machine guns were, by and large, designed to be mobile and thus were “air-cooled.” But since the defense of the mountain had become a matter of bunkers and holding position, the machine guns had been retrofitted with the water-cooling shrouds. They could, effectively, be fired indefinitely without the need to use carefully controlled bursts and constant barrel replacements.

  Thus the machine gun itself was set up on a box of ammunition the size of a large motorcycle. Jones figured if he ended up firing the whole box he should be able to take the rest of the day off. He watched the swarming horde for a moment as it crossed the mountain and dropped onto the city below. At the very top there was a plume of strange smoke, as if the mountain had suddenly erupted. That, too, was caught in the red light of the sun, making it appear to be lava spewing into the air.

  “I think it’s time that the Greyhound started playing our song,” Mahoney muttered.

  “Nah, it’s not that bad,” Jones replied. “Yet.”

  “If that’s not a tempest at the gates I don’t know what is.”

  “I got it,” Jones added after a moment. “I got it.”

  “Got what, the clap?” Mahoney asked. He might be introspective when the enemy was out of sight, but when the probes were in view he was all business.

  “What you were saying before,” Jones replied, excitedly. “We’re like, in a cave, right? Sort of. A bunker anyway. And the light’s shining on the probes, reflecting off of them. That was what you were talking about, right?”

  Mahoney sighed. “I am surrounded by Philistines.”

  “Now that I just don’t get,” Jones said, frowning. “I mean, we’re not even surrounded, yet, and those are like… alien probes. Is whatever you just said something like that?”

  * * *

  “Interesting,” Shane mused, tapping his mouse to bring up a readout.

  “What?” Cady asked, leaning over from his own position.

  Shane was much more used to leading from the front than from deep in the heart of a mountain. But any modern infantry officer was more than well versed on using computer networks for what the military termed “C3I,” communications, control, command and intelligence.

  Technically Shane should have been using the C3I system in the command post to maintain control over the troops in his area. That area was defined as the distance of the weapons that he had at his command. Since all long-range weapons were at General Riggs’s command, that area wasn’t much. But he had Sergeant Major Cady to handle that and when all was said and done he had less than a platoon to manage. It didn’t take up a lot of his time. So he’d “expanded” the area, both informationally and terrain-
wise, that he was viewing. In other words, he wasn’t just looking at the remaining sensors, visual and lidar, that were telling the general what the probes were doing, he was monitoring the whole spectrum.

  “General,” the electronic warfare officer said, “probe transmissions have just picked up by fifteen percent. Pretty much across the board.”

  “That,” Shane said, quietly, in response to Cady. “They’re generating like mad.”

  “What does that mean?” the general asked, spinning in his chair to look over at the EWO.

  The command center had been designed by a local firm. It turned out to be the firm that had also designed every NASA control center since the Mercury capsules. So there was a very similar feel. The general’s position was two thirds of the way towards the back at a terminal with various other controlling officers and enlisted men scattered around. Shane, as one of the lowest priority positions, was towards the back and rear. On the other hand, it gave him a great view of the forward information screens and everyone else’s positions.

  “Don’t know, sir,” the EWO admitted. “We don’t have a hard fix on how they talk, so we can’t exactly translate it.”

  “Updating,” Shane said to Cady. He’d meant for it to be a quiet and personal conversation with his NCO. But it hit one of those dead silences that sometimes fall over a group and it rebounded around the room.

  “Say again?” the general said, looking around. “Who said that?”

  “Me, sir,” Shane replied, cursing himself. He wasn’t supposed to be looking at signal data at all. The glare that he got from Colonel Summers, the commander of the 82nd brigade, said it all. But he’d already stepped on his hooter; might as well jam it into the ground. “The signals picked up by about five percent when they got close to the lasers. They stayed that way until just a moment ago, then they really picked up. They got some information processed, probably what to do about lasers if they hit them again, and passed it around. Signal level is now back to nearly normal.”

  “Good possibility,” the general said, spinning around to look over at the major. “Extrapolate.”

  Damn, damn, damn. Surprise is in the mind of the commander, even the surprise of trying to answer a question. What was the update?

  “Somewhere they have a higher level battle processor, sir,” Shane replied, after keying the controls so that he was talking directly to the general. He noticed right away that the general had keyed it for general distribution so he might as well have just yelled. “It might be distributed in the probes or it might be one of those big cities over in Europe. That processor told them that they had to do something about the lasers. So far we’ve only seen them tear stuff apart. There’s no reason that they wouldn’t have a higher level ability than we’ve seen. In Greenland we saw them begin destroying carbon to escape traps. Perhaps they’ll use a longer range weapon we haven’t seen before.” He paused for a moment as his mind raced.

  “They’ll want to keep most of their systems as extractors. To change will take time. I would look for a group that falls away from the main body to modify itself and then goes for the first laser that fires.”

  “Good possibility,” Riggs said, spinning back around. “Hammond,” he continued, looking over at the Information and Intelligence section, “keep an eye on that.”

  “Roger,” the J-2 replied. “We won’t be able to code for it. We’ll have to use eyeballs.”

  “Do it,” the general replied.

  “Probes have entered Huntsville city limits,” the J-3 reporter said. “Approaching Phase Line Deadite.”

  Shane smiled at that. When he’d seen the op-plan for the engagement, he laughed his butt off and wondered which staff weenie was an Army of Darkness fan and how they had gotten the codes past the general. A little digging turned up that it was General Riggs who was an Army of Darkness fan.

  “Initiate Op-plan Ash when ten percent of the probes have crossed Phase Line Deadite,” Riggs said. “And may God be with the just.”

  * * *

  “Hmmm…” Richard mused, watching the alien probe slow down and then speed up as he tapped the keys of the laptop. “That seems… to have done it.”

  “Dat’s nice,” Helena said. “But don’t you want it runnin’ full speed?”

  “Absolutely,” Richard replied. “But if I can control one bot I can control many. Or, rather, the military can. Much as I hate giving my secrets to the military-industrial complex, this is one area where they are a utility. And this Dr. Reynolds who is a deputy secretary of defense seems to be an honorable man.”

  “Dat’s da guy in Huntsville, right?” Helena said, raising an eyebrow.

  “The same,” Richard replied, shutting down the laptop. “I finally determined that he was working with Dr. Alice Pike, which explains many things. She was a bright girl, Alice.”

  “Well, if you wanna tell Huntsville somet’ing, you better hurry,” Helena said. “Dey’re under attack.”

  “Good Lord,” Richard said, picking up the laptop and hurrying towards the laboratory. “You could have told me!”

  “I jus’ did,” Helena pointed out.

  * * *

  “Ten percent and climbing past Phase Line Deadite,” the J-3 tac NCO said.

  “Fire rockets,” General Riggs responded.

  “Firing.”

  * * *

  Jones slapped his hand over his ears as one thousand J-type rockets launched with near simultaneity.

  “Jeeze that was loud!” he yelled over the ringing in his ears. “They could have warned us!”

  “Go baby go,” Mahoney said, ignoring his bunker mate.

  “I wonder how they’ll…” Jones said and then paused. “Aw… shit.”

  * * *

  “Oh, yeah, and updating their defenses against the rockets,” Shane added to himself, grimacing.

  The mass of probes was rapidly spreading across Huntsville and on the vids it was easy to see the buildings crumbling as they passed. The wide-angle vid had a great shot of the rockets flying towards their mass, currently passing over and spreading out along South Memorial Parkway, or “Phase Line Deadite.” It also had a great view of the odd… tubes that extended from the mass, spreading out around the incoming rockets. The tubes were about ten meters across, probes making up the wall of the tubes, and extended along the ballistic flight path of the rockets so that the rockets had to fly down the center. As he watched, the rockets also began to shred and then disappear, without so much as the slightest explosion.

  “Major Gries,” the general said quietly over his headset. “Comments?”

  “We can now anticipate some reaction against the lasers, sir,” Shane replied tightly. “They didn’t hit the mines on this attack, so those might have an immediate effect. And they haven’t run into IBot yet.”

  “Concur,” General Riggs said. “On the eventuality that they will attempt to close with the lasers, I want you to pull your platoon and redeploy them around the East Weeden laser site. Make sure they carry breath-masks.”

  “Yes, sir,” Shane said, starting to stand up.

  “Turn over control to your sergeant major,” Riggs interjected quickly. “I want you here.”

  “Yes, sir,” Shane said with a grimace.

  “On it,” Cady added, keying his mike. “Platoon, unass your positions. Move to the armory. Draw nonmetallic weaponry and masks. You got two minutes. Haul!” He reached under the console and pulled out his war-stick. “Time to go swat some bugs.”

  * * *

  Fortunately there were elevators to the summit position where the lasers were mounted. Just as fortunately, the probes were taking their time stripping Huntsville of all its useable metal. But the troops were still panting by the time they got to the summit.

  “Top, now that we’re here, what are we doing here?” Mahoney asked as the platoon spread out from the flush-mounted stairwell by the laser bunker. The same guys who had designed the whole mountain complex had designed the laser position and, in keeping with
the NASA theme, Mahoney recognized the design from a trip to Kennedy Space Center. It was the same sort of massive structure as the ones used for observers of the Apollo launches. The two-story structure consisted mostly of very large concrete-filled sandbags. More and stronger seemed to be the idea. The tiny projector was mostly hidden on the very top, a glittering ball of crystal catching the last rays of the sun.

  “The Old Man and the general think the probes are gonna go for the laser as soon as it opens up,” Cady answered. “Our job is to make sure they don’t get here.”

  “Top,” Jones argued, “if they can take out the laser, we’re not going to be able to do much.”

  “That’s to be seen,” Cady answered equanimably. “There’s a dead zone here under where the lasers can fire. That’s our priority. You let the big boys handle the rest. For now, spread out around the laser. Everybody gets a zone. If a probe comes into your zone, kill it. It’s that simple.”

  “Simple,” Jones muttered as Cady and Staff Sergeant Gregory spread the short platoon around the perimeter.

  “Very,” Mahoney said from his position. He and Jones had managed to snag the best view, which also meant they were probably going to be the first hit. “Very simple. But important point, keep your head down.” Mahoney was leaning up against the concrete bunker, apparently enjoying the view of Huntsville being chewed to bits. The laser bunker was mounted on the very summit of Mount Weeden. Off to their left was a lower bit with, of all things, a small swamp. It was an odd feature to see on the top of a mountain.

  “Why?” Jones asked.

  “Because, if your head gets too high…” the other specialist said and then thumbed over his shoulder. “Those lasers don’t have target discriminators. They’ll shoot you just as soon as one of the probes. And it’ll go through you easier.”