by B. V. Larson
I snorted. The man had tried to kill me on at least three occasions, but still wanted to follow protocol. A disciplined marine to the last.
“By all means,” I said. “I can see why you might want to get me out of the way to gain command. But do you realize I lost fourteen marines out there due solely to your sabotage?”
Barrera shook Kwon’s heavy hands off. I nodded to Kwon, who let him go but watched him with intensity. Barrera walked to the computer table and tapped the map. Florida zoomed in and we saw the southern coast was still glowing with fires and plumes of white smoke. The upper atmosphere was filling slowly with fallout. The numbers there had updated to a new total.
“Two point seven million now, sir,” Barrera said. “You’ve managed to lose millions more lives than I did with my sabotage attempt. Who do you think should be court-martialed?”
I felt a heavy pang of guilt. I’d managed not to think about Miami much up until now. In the middle of battle, a veteran didn’t dwell on the dead. If you did, you were much more likely to join them.
“As I recall, the Macros killed those people, not me.”
“No feelings about it at all, sir?”
“Of course I’m sick about it. But there will be time for grief later.”
“I put to you Colonel, that you are undisciplined and unprofessional. You have been placed in a position beyond your capacities. You have overseen the deaths of many millions of humans, and possibly billions of other living creatures. South America is a wasteland. China will not recover for the better part of the next century. Every continent has lost major cities. Abroad, the Centaurs, Worms, Microbes and who knows what others have all lost countless members of their species. We haven’t formed a coherent coalition with any of them. We proceed from month to month, day to day in a random haphazard series of events, driven by your spur of the moment decisions.”
I felt pain as his words rained down on me. “Sure, there have been losses,” I said. “We are fighting a war unlike any in the history of our species. This isn’t some organized parade-ground exercise. Losses are high, but we are still standing. We are not on our knees.”
“But we are not winning, Colonel. We are losing ground. The last straw for me was when you restarted this war with an enemy we can’t beat. I thought of the millions you’d consigned to death, and decided to take action—to take command.”
I nodded, understanding perfectly. It was not entirely out of character. He’d never spoken about his feelings, he’d just taken action when he’d quietly decided to do so. It was so hard to tell what this man was thinking. Even now, he was as grim-faced and calm as ever.
“Millions have died,” I said, “and I can’t promise millions more will not follow them. I don’t think freedom comes cheaply. Have you ever heard the expression ‘when one man dies it is a tragedy, when millions die it is a statistic’?”
Barrera snorted at me. “Yes sir, but do you realize you are quoting Joseph Stalin?”
“Uh,” I said, squinting. “Yes, right. But the point I’m trying to make is that the individual counts. I’d rather fight and die free than live as a slave. The Macros do not intend to allow us to survive. They intend to kill us all in time.”
“But why do not have to make that decision today?”
“You shouldn’t listen to this bullshit, Colonel,” Kwon said suddenly.
I turned to Kwon. “I understand how you feel, First Sergeant. But if one of my senior staff turns on me, I at least have to know why.”
“Let us evacuate to the mainland, sue for peace and work on our defenses,” Barrera said.
I shook my head. “I’ve seen what peace with the Macros looks like. They will not allow us to build up, nor even to survive in the long term. They would demand the destruction of all threatening technology on Earth.”
Barrera stared at me. “It’s all about your ego, isn’t it, sir? It’s all about you.”
I stared back. “I believe as did Frederick the Great of Prussia. He was a mini-napoleon in his time. He said most generals were inherently timid, but that a brave leader who was competent would always beat them. You have to be willing to take risks to win at the game of war.”
“This is not a game, Colonel. Real lives are being lost out there. Your risks and mistakes have cost us too much.”
“There is some truth to what you say,” I said. “But no one else was there—only me. No one else was in the position to make these decisions. Right or wrong, they had to be made.”
“I accept that, Colonel,” Barrera said. “But I just don’t think you are the best man for the job.”
“And so we come down to it. I am forced to order your imprisonment, court-martial and eventual execution.”
“I understand, sir,” Barrera said.
I could see by his eyes that he did. I could also see that he was troubled. He looked back to the screens where the next phase of the battle was unfolding. Kwon moved forward to restrain Barrera, but I waved him back. He shadowed the disgraced Lieutenant Colonel’s every move.
“Colonel,” Major Sarin said quietly. “Our tanks are engaging the enemy now.”
I flicked my eyes quickly back to the overhead screens. The hovertanks were firing now. They were all hitting the big dreadnaught, just as I’d ordered. The enemy fleet was beginning to respond, to turn on them. The British missiles were only a few minutes from impacting. They’d reached the apogee of their flight and were now coming back down into the atmosphere.
The enemy cruisers took notice of our hovertanks after their first dozen strikes against their protective dreadnaught. Forty-odd cannons swiveled to fire down upon the smaller craft that scooted around over the waves below them.
The dreadnaught had been damaged earlier, when it had been hit by the U. S. missiles. But it was huge, and I wasn’t sure if my tanks with their relatively light guns could bring it down.
“Two hovercraft have been hit, Colonel,” Major Sarin reported. “…six hit…seven.”
“Keep them on target. Take out the dreadnaught’s forward point-defense pods as primary targets. Secondarily, take out the enemy engines.”
The battle raged. The British missiles were less than a minute away. Everyone’s eyes were locked on the screen. Only Major Sarin tapped at the screen. The rest of us watched fixedly.
“We’ve lost forty percent of our hovertanks,” Major Sarin said, somehow keeping her voice even. “Due to losses, command has switched from Major Feng to Lieutenant Koslov. The new commander is requesting an order for an orderly withdrawal.”
“What have we done to that dreadnaught?” I asked.
“One of the four defensive pods is knocked out, two more damaged. Of six identified engine ports, three are damaged. Other hits have been scored all over the hull, but it is not known if this damage has reduced the enemy vessel’s effectiveness.”
I glanced at Barrera. I could tell he’d pull back the hovertanks. I tried not to let that fact alter my judgment in any way. It was more difficult than usual. Part of me wanted to show him how these things were done—but the rest of me wanted to save the tanks and their crews to prove I wasn’t a wild-eyed madman.
I took a deep breath. No! I thought. I had to think clearly about victory. Barrera didn’t matter. I looked back to the screens and thought hard. If we took down that ship, the ship-killer missiles would do great damage to the fleet and probably save Star Force. Perhaps that was self-serving, but really we represented the majority of Earth’s defensive capacity. Most importantly, we had the only known versions of Nano factories on the planet. If they wiped those out, the rest of Earth would be reliant on centuries-behind technology and wouldn’t stand a chance against the Macros. They wouldn’t be able to build a single ship that could stand up to the machines.
“Order Lieutenant Koslov to continue the attack until his unit is down to ten percent effectiveness.”
Major Sarin hesitated, glancing at me. Our eyes met, and then she looked back down and relayed the orders. Both of us knew
we’d just consigned those brave men to death.
Barrera let out an audible sigh. I knew how he felt, but I couldn’t worry about that now. The hovertanks were the last asset I had in the region that could take out that big ship. I could request that Fleet assault the dreadnaught, but even if Crow did listen to me, I didn’t want to make that move. I wanted my fleet of ships to survive until the end of this. I would much rather lose the hovertanks than lose my ships. Such was the harsh calculus of war.
“Sir!” Major Sarin shouted, pointing toward a screen depicting the enemy fleet in close-up.
The big dreadnaught was in trouble. Something inside it was burning. I heard a surge of excitement from upstairs. Marines in battle suits stomped their boots. I watched, drawing back my lips from my teeth in a tense grimace.
The big ship reared up and began to climb. It was increasing its altitude. Was it dodging the British missiles, having calculated it couldn’t shoot them all down? I could see now the missiles were converging on it. At least half the incoming contacts were headed just for that one ship.
It rose up and up, higher than the highest clouds. As forty miles up, it was well beyond the reach of my hovertanks.
“Order Koslov to scatter and retreat,” I said.
We watched as a few missiles got close and set themselves off with suicidal spherical explosions in the high atmosphere.
“Get Crow on the command channel,” I ordered.
“Riggs, we’re on station here, but the Macros don’t seem to be firing at England just now. Lucky pommies.”
Pommies? I wondered, but didn’t have time to ask about Aussie slang just now. “Crow, hit that big ship. Don’t let it get away. It’s limping now, leaving its protective cruisers. Finish it off.”
“You know, mate, I’m going to do this one for you. I think you’re beginning to understand how to use a force like ours. We’re light cavalry, see? We’re mostly good for running down the peasants after they break.”
Crow began another of his nasty laughs, but I cut him off.
Barrera watched the battle in interest. I stared at him for a moment, wondering what I should do. We didn’t have laws in place yet—martial punishments for crimes. But attempted assassination of one’s commanding officer? Tradition was pretty clear on that one.
Barrera finally noticed me eyeing him. He turned and faced me. “May I make a final request, sir?”
“What’s that?”
“I’d like to man the turret on the eastern wall when the machines hit us again.”
“We’ve abandoned that wall. Every defensive position has been evacuated.”
“Exactly, sir.”
I thought about it. The marines would watch my second in command go down in a blaze of glory. It would be better for morale than putting him up in front of a firing squad.
Finally, I nodded to him. “Good luck, Barrera.”
“Good luck, sir.”
We shook hands. As he headed for the door, I turned to Kwon and Sandra, who both looked skeptical.
“You two make sure he gets there.”
“Will do, sir,” Kwon said.
-40-
The second battle for Earth didn’t end the way I’d expected. Barrera made a fine last stand, but that part didn’t really surprise me. He wasn’t exactly a dishonorable man, he was someone who was so dedicated to the cause he’d decided to take matters into his own hands. In some ways, I could understand that. I’d made similar decisions against the U. S. government in the past. I wondered to myself how I would react if I had been playing second banana to someone I disagreed with all these years. Someone like Crow, perhaps. Maybe I would have gotten ideas, over time. After watching my C. O. make mistakes that killed off millions, I could imagine deciding the time had come to act. I might even have become fed up enough to move against my commander.
I hadn’t excused Barrera, but I had allowed him to choose his own form of execution. He died on the walls inside a beam turret that had already been knocked out several times over the preceding days. The nanites had rebuilt it after every assault, because they could repair a turret clamshell much faster than the twisted fleshy part inside. After we’d had to scrape the remains of several marines from the eastern turret, the one that faced the sea and the big bombarding cruisers, we’d abandoned the eastern wall entirely. Manning that wall was quick, messy suicide.
We’d all expected Barrera to be taken out by a cruiser cannon, but it didn’t turn out that way. The enemy fleet in fact did not participate in the last of the battle for Andros Island. Crow had seen to that, along with the brave pilots of nearly two hundred hovertanks and several barrages of ship-killing missiles. Once the enemy dreadnaught broke and ran, the battle went our way. Crow chased the dreadnaught, burning the wounded ship with hundreds of stinging laser cannons. Our Fleet swarmed the mighty vessel, taking out its defensive armament first, then beginning the lengthy process of disemboweling the ship one system at a time. I thought about ordering marines to fly in to attack, but in the end didn’t bother. Why risk losing men in the final blossoming explosion?
Macro Command seemed to realize their control of the skies had been broken. Without the dreadnaught to protect them from our missiles, they were doomed. The last forty-one cruisers nosed upward and their engines flared blue. They left Earth behind. Another salvo of missiles followed the ships, dozens of them closing in from dozens of directions. The missiles never caught up with the ships, but they did give them a nice send-off and prevented them from changing their minds.
Marveling at the number of missiles the militaries of Earth had fired, I had to hand it to Kerr and the rest, they’d distributed what technology they could. Perhaps it had been the example the Chinese set years ago that convinced their governments. They had managed to bring down one of the invaders on that occasion. Since nothing else they could build had ever proven effective, they dumped their budgets into long range ship-killers with low-yield tactical nukes aboard. Preventing the proliferation of nuclear missile technology was no longer an issue amongst the rulers of Old Earth. Survival of the species was all any government cared about now. Lines on maps meant little when entire continents were being off-handedly erased from those same maps by alien invaders. I recalled reading that President Reagan had once said the world would only unite in peace if invaded by aliens. Perhaps, in the end, he had been proven correct.
Back on Andros, our problems weren’t over with. Far from it. The enemy machines, now that their fleet support was gone, had nothing to lose. They rose up en masse, big and small, to storm our battered walls.
There, ready to meet them, sat Lieutenant Colonel Barrera in his clamshell turret. The same turret that had been destroyed three times over the last few days. He fired and fired, quickly killing a dozen of the smaller machines. When a big one finally showed up—an invasion monster severely damaged by my hunter-killer platoons—it came from the sea, dragging two useless legs behind it. Barrera engaged it immediately as it crested above the waves, firing for a third leg. With less than four, it couldn’t hope to get over our walls and thus would be effectively out of the fight. Sensing the danger, the enemy Macro engaged him in return. Hot metal melted on both sides until the clamshell was burnt black, but still Barrera kept pouring laser fire into the enemy’s last vulnerable leg on the left side. The leg went down at last, and the Macro listed to one side, sinking back to the sea with a hissing plume of steam.
Immobile now, but still armed, the big machine relentlessly pounded upon Barrera’s turret until the projector shattered and the turret itself was reduced to glowing slag. My marines glided out into the surf and used a few low-yield grenades to finish the machine, but it had done its work. Barrera had been executed.
The battle raged on for hours, but became one-sided when Crow’s fleet returned and sat above the base, stabbing beams down into the enemy machines. With my marines working grenades and arm-mounted projectors and a hundred ships darkening the skies, the Macros were finally outgunned. Lieutenant Ko
slov rolled in with the surviving hovertanks, providing us a mobile strong point. In the end, he did a slow rotation around the base, clearing out the last of the struggling enemy.
The death toll was grim on our side as well. We’d lost more than a thousand marines on foot, battle suits or no. Hundreds more had died in turrets, hovertanks and even a few aboard our spacecraft. But for all of that, my weary men gave a ragged cheer when victory was declared. We were exhausted, but successful.
* * *
I woke up hours after the battle had ended. I startled awake, and felt disoriented. In my dreams, fresh assassins stalked me. Silver-eyed men that were half-Macro and half-human. I shook my head, unclamped my helmet and gulped cool air.
I was stretched across three chairs in the mess hall on the third floor of the command bunker. There was wet sand, blood and bits of crumbling nanite metals all over the floor. Many of the wounded had been brought here, as it was relatively safe. Now that the battle was over, they recuperated in the dimly lit chamber, sipping drinks and watching the clean up on the wall-screens.
I turned my head around slowly. It was good to know all these men were loyal. I smiled slightly. That was the best gift Barrera had given me personally. By confessing his guilt and taking the honorable way out, he’d left me assured for now that I wasn’t being hunted—at least not by anything human.
Sandra walked up to me and crouched to kiss me.
“Morning,” I said.
“It’s two a. m.”
“Close enough,” I said, struggling into a sitting position. I groaned as I did so.
Sandra pushed me back down, gently but firmly. I suddenly realized why I was here. I’d been injured in the fighting. I could tell by the burning sensation in my abdomen.
I let her push me down again and forced myself to relax.
“Can you buy me a drink?” I asked.
She put something up to my lips, and I slurped on a straw. I’d been hoping for alcohol, but I was disappointed. It was syrupy and yellow-green, but at least it was ice-cold.