by Jay Allan
He looked back at Holm and then to Cain. “There is one other research project I would like to present. It was pre-existing in another form, but we were able to build on that prior design work to rush this to a prototype.” He clicked the controller again, and the screen displayed a monstrous suit of armor. More than armor. It had the shape of a fighting suit, but it was over three meters in height and massively broad across the mid-section. There were SAW-sized autocannons built into each arm and hyper-velocity missile launchers mounted on each shoulder. “Meet the Obliterator…our next-generation heavy armor.”
Everyone in the room stared at the screen. There was a long silence, and a tiny, self-satisfied smile crept onto Sparks’ lips. It was Cain who spoke first. “That is truly impressive, colonel. Is it realistic? Or just something conceptual?”
Sparks’ smile widened. “It is very realistic, general.” He looked at Holm then back to Cain. “In fact, we have built ten of them.”
There were a few gasps in the room. “You mean this actually exists?” It was General Holm this time. “I was aware of the enhanced armor research project…I assume that is what you built on…but this is quite a leap from where we were on that.”
“Yes, sir.” Sparks wiped the smile off his face. He was a little nervous – he’d exceeded his authority in going right to production. “As you know, sir, we backburnered the project. The proposed armor was simply too expensive and would have required too much additional training before deployment. Against our projected potential adversaries at the time, we determined the same resources could produce greater battlefield power with our existing weapons.” He paused then added, “In other words, we could get a section of normal Marines in the field for every enhanced suit…and the section was more effective.”
He glanced quickly at the naval officers then back to Holm and Cain. “Once I saw the footage of the enemy’s Reapers I knew our tactical needs had changed. We have to have something to match those monsters.” He clicked the controller, bringing up an enlarged schematic of the heavy armor, with arrows and small captions describing each system. “I upscaled the suits – the original ones were considerably smaller than this – and I added a second reactor. The extra power allowed us to load the thing with high-impact weapons…just what we need to take the enemy robots down.”
“It looks extraordinary, colonel.” Cain’s eyes were focused on the screen. “When can I have them?”
Sparks cleared his throat. “I wish it was that simple, sir.”
“What do you need?” Cain finally turned away from the display to look at Sparks. “I’m sure General Holm will give you whatever resources you require.”
“Yes, sir, I understand that.” Sparks shuffled his feet nervously. “But it’s not just a question of resources. In order to get the prototypes built, I skipped all kinds of preliminary testing. There is no way we could put Marines on the battlefield in these suits until we conduct extensive field tests.” He shifted his glance to Holm – Cain’s impatient stare was making him tense.
“Additionally, the men and women using these suits will require extensive training. You will note that, unlike our normal armor, these units are much larger than the Marines who will wear them.” Sparks hesitated, trying to decide how to explain. “Operating one of these suits is quite unlike wearing standard armor. The relationship between the moves of the user and what the suit does is considerably different. It’s something like walking on stilts…but on steroids. And the arms have the same issue.”
“How quickly can we train someone for this?” Holm’s question was right to the point. Cain looked like he might argue, but Holm knew Sparks was right. Putting untrained Marines in these suits in battle wasn’t an option. He might just as well shoot them in the head.
Sparks was silent for a few seconds; he could only take a wild guess how long it would take a Marine to become proficient in the new armor. “Well, sir, under normal circumstances, I would say at least a year…possibly 18 months.” Cain looked like he was going to interrupt, but Sparks continued first. “But I believe we could cover the basics in four months, perhaps five.” He glanced over at Cain, who still looked unsatisfied with the answer. “I just don’t see how we can get anyone even remotely battle-ready in less time.”
“Ok, colonel.” Holm spoke quickly, mostly to forestall Cain from arguing pointlessly. Cain was the best Marine Holm had ever met, and he thought of him like a son. But there was no question…he was a pain in the ass sometimes. His stubbornness and impatience were almost legendary in the Corps, and Holm had experienced it firsthand many times. “I will give you a blank check to proceed. This project is priority one - we need these in the field as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, sir.” Sparks started to sit, but he snapped back to attention. “Sir, there’s one other thing.”
“Yes, colonel?”
“Well, general, we were able to build these prototypes on Armstrong, but I don’t see any realistic way of producing them in quantity anywhere except Earth.” Sparks looked toward the display. “There simply aren’t production facilities on any of the colony worlds for something like this.” He paused. “And that’s going to add a lot of transit time getting them to the front.”
The room was quiet for half a minute. It was Cain’s voice that broke the silence. “Cheer up, colonel.” His voice was grim. “The front may be a lot closer to Earth by then.”
Chapter 20
Alliance Intelligence Facility Q
Dakota Foothills
Western Alliance, Earth
Gavin Stark was impressed. He’d only visited the facility once before, when it was still under construction. Plan C was top secret, possibly the most confidential operation in the history of Alliance Intelligence…and Facility Q was the most important part of the whole thing. Stark himself was too high profile, and he didn’t want to draw attention to the abandoned wastelands of the Dakotas, where he’d built Q and where work now proceeded ceaselessly toward the completion of his master plan.
The facility itself was underground, deeply buried and heavily shielded. Indeed, to any observer, the location would appear to be nothing but the outer pastures of a large cattle ranch. Of course, the steer were owned by Alliance Intelligence, and the cowboys herding them were heavily-armed agents. Occasionally a drifter would wander onto the land and end up reprocessed as cattle feed.
The complex was massive, one of the most expensive undertakings in history. Getting it built in secret, and hiding the costs in the government budgets, had been Stark’s masterpiece. His plan had been brilliant and his execution flawless, but it had also taken a torrent of bribery, blackmail, and assassination to make it happen. When the false accounting finally collapsed in on itself, the Alliance government would be bankrupt and the economy would probably implode. But Stark didn’t care. He expected to be in power by then and, without the troublesome politicians interfering, he’d turn the Alliance into the dominant Superpower…and those arrogant colonists into pliant and dutiful citizens. The economic chaos would actually aid his coup, and a few years of depression and famine would be useful to reduce the surplus population. There were far too many Cogs, in his estimation, and a reduction by half would be welcome.
“Dr. Zenta, your work appears to be proceeding according to schedule. I must congratulate you.” Stark stood in the small conference room, staring out through a large glass wall at the cavernous chamber beyond. There were large metallic tanks, thousands of them, lined up in neat rows.
“Yes, Mr. Stark. We have been most fortunate in that we have avoided any major delays.” Zenta was a short man, with a bald head and a large crooked nose. There was an intensity to the scientist that made even Stark uncomfortable. “The prototypes have been moved into phase three. Director Samuels has begun his work with them already.”
“Good, good.” Stark had to suppress a smile. “The prototypes are, of course, expendable. I want them thoroughly tested.” Plan C was Stark’s ultimate scheme, a vast project designed to
settle his scores…and gain for him the absolute power he craved. It had been underway for some time – and it would take years more to bring it to fruition, but he had resolved to be patient. His past plans had been thwarted largely because he had moved too soon. Now he would make sure everything was prepared. When C was fully launched, those cursed Marines and miserable colonies basking in their new liberties would pay the price…just as the gutless bureaucrats in Washbalt would.
“I assure you, Mr. Stark, that every aspect of the plan will be thoroughly tested before the units are released.” Zenta was the mastermind behind the science of Plan C, though he had no idea of the full extent of Stark’s intentions. Zenta was out to prove his theories and breakthroughs to the world, and he had gratefully accepted Stark’s sponsorship to make that a possibility. Stark had seen the practical applications immediately, and he’d spared no expense to make it all happen. Of course, in Stark’s plan, Zenta did not long outlive his usefulness. Gavin Stark was a big believer in cleaning up loose ends.
“Very well, doctor.” Zenta was an egomaniac, and Stark knew it. It was time to pump him up. Stark wanted the scientist’s total focus, at least until he had completed his part of the plan. “You are to be commended. Your scientific breakthroughs are nothing short of miraculous.” Stark smiled, though on him it was unnatural and a bit unsettling. “We will shake the world with your discoveries, doctor.” Stark turned to leave, and once his back was turned to the scientist, his small smile expanded into a wide grin. Yes, he thought…we will shake the world. And beyond.
“I will be at the ranch for a couple days.” Stark made a face. “As few as possible.” He’d purchased a small ranch near the facility for his personal use. It was a secondary cover. He was pretty sure he’d traveled here in secrecy, but just in case there was a leak he wanted a backup explanation. It wasn’t at all uncommon for government officials of his stature to have opulent vacation homes, often in remote locales. Stark himself could think of few reasons to leave Washbalt unless it was on necessary business, but it was eminently believable that the Alliance’s spymaster sought solace riding horses at his ranch.
Rafael Samuels towered above Stark. He’d always been a big man, but he’d gotten fatter over the years. He was wearing a black uniform, a gaudy thing trimmed with silver shoulder lace and buttons. The army for which it was designed didn’t exist yet, but Samuels had spent his entire adult life in the Marine Corps, and he wasn’t comfortable thinking of himself as a civilian. Stark didn’t really care if Samuels wanted to prance around in an overdone dress uniform, though he thought the whole thing was a little silly.
“Perhaps some rest is what you need, Gavin.” Samuels had never been invited to call Stark by his first name. He’d heard Dutton doing it, and he’d just followed the old man’s lead. Stark indulged it. Samuels was a weak man, and now that he was no longer a Marine, he was a bit lost, haunted by regrets and doubts. Stark was more than willing to let Samuels believe he was a trusted confidante if it helped get the job done. When everything had played out, perhaps he would allow Samuels to enjoy a little power, though more likely the ex-Marine would be a loose end that had outlived its usefulness. And Gavin Stark didn’t like loose ends.
Samuels had been troubled, but he was starting to come around. He’d been immensely depressed in the aftermath of the plot against the Corps. Samuels had been a reluctant participant in that unfortunate affair. Once he was exposed as a traitor he was committed…he couldn’t even fool himself into believing there was a way back. The cold hatred of the Marines affected him deeply, and he regretted his actions. Stark sensed he was in danger of losing his new tool, and he continued his subtle manipulations, whispering in Samuel’s ear, shaping the thoughts of his somewhat dim-witted accomplice.
Stark had initially lured the Marine commandant slowly into treachery. Samuel’s act had been the darkest betrayal in the history of the Corps, but it hadn’t started that way. In the beginning, Stark had offered only redress for grievances. Samuels hadn’t considered the ruthless methods Alliance Intelligence would employ to secure his rise – he only wanted the position and respect he felt he’d been wrongfully denied. He was shocked when he realized what Stark’s people had done, and he’d almost exposed them. But the human mind is capable of enormous rationalization, and Samuels realized he couldn’t blow the whistle on Alliance Intelligence without exposing his own role in the whole affair. He teetered on the edge for a while, considering sacrificing himself to stop Stark’s plans then and there. But in the end he chose his own survival, his own prosperity. The commandant’s chair was right there, beckoning to him…all he had to do was keep his mouth shut.
Later, when the true scope of Stark’s plans became apparent, Samuels had another moment of doubt. But he was too deep in; there was no way for him to escape…not without being destroyed in the process. Once again, Samuels felt guilt and uncertainty, but not enough to sacrifice himself. He went along with Stark and became the most hated Marine who’d ever lived.
“I find rest too stressful.” Stark’s voice was businesslike. “I spend the entire time wondering what incompetence is going on in my absence.” He was staring down at a ‘pad, reading a series of figures. “It appears you have done quite well so far, Rafael.”
Samuels smiled. “Thank you, Gavin. I am fully prepared for the next phase.” He’d been plagued by doubts, but over time he’d become more resigned to his choice. He knew he could never go back to the Corps, and the certainty of that had closed in on him. First it was frustration, so bad it almost paralyzed him into inactivity. But gradually it turned to resentment…until he blamed the Marines themselves for their stubborn hatred.
Stark’s eyes bored into Samuel’s. “Rafael, I cannot express how crucial the next five years will be. Your role is absolutely essential.” He paused, largely for effect. He knew exactly what he was going to say. “I need you. I am counting on you more than anyone else.”
Samuels smiled again. Stark grinned back, but his thoughts were derisive…what an imbecile, he’s easier to manipulate than a child.
Stark turned to leave, but Samuels spoke first. “Gavin?”
“Yes?”
“What about the situation on the frontier?” Samuels sounded concerned, uncertain.
Stark turned back to face his companion. “What about it?”
Samuels looked confused. “Shouldn’t we be doing something?”
Stark stared back with an expression so cold Samuels felt a chill down his whole body. “Let the colonists and those thrice-cursed Marines deal with it. They wanted their independence. Let them choke on it.” Stark’s features morphed into a smile so feral it was almost inhuman. “Perhaps this enemy will do our work for us. The Marines…and the forces of the other Powers…will be decimated in this new war. They will be in ruins…just as we are about to strike.”
“But what if they can’t hold this new enemy back?”
Stark turned and started to walk away. “Yes, it will be all too easy. And then we will have the power.”
Samuels stood there as Stark rounded the corner. He tried to suppress a shiver, but he couldn’t. The head of Alliance Intelligence didn’t seem to care that all mankind was threatened with destruction. He was starting to doubt Stark’s sanity.
Chapter 21
Conference Room
AS Lexington
Outer reaches of Alpha 327 System
The second day of the conference had been as grueling as the first. Garret wanted to get through as much as he could while he had everyone together. They’d be sending reports back and forth on Commnet, but that was mostly one-way communication, with responses taking days or weeks to come back. There was just no substitute for the interaction of a face to face meeting, especially when they were working through problems and planning on this scale. He had the best military minds in the Alliance in the room – and a few of the top scientific ones as well. He wanted to get the best out of it before he sent them all on their way.
“
I’d like Admiral Winton to report now.” Garret glanced over at Holm, who nodded his agreement. “He has some insights on the enemy’s logistics that I think are very interesting.” He looked over at Winton. “Admiral?”
Winton stood up slowly, straightening his uniform as he did. “Thank you, Admiral Garret.” Winton was the senior logistics officer in the navy, responsible for the vast supply operation that kept its battlefleets in action. “My staff has been studying the available data on the enemy’s operations, and we have developed several theories that have considerable relevancy to the tactical situation.”
Winton stepped back from the table. “The first issue involves the transport and weapons capacity of the enemy ships. As you all know, the largest vessels yet encountered are approximately comparable in mass to our own cruisers.” He pressed the controller, bringing up an image of a ship. “Because of the technical superiority of the enemy, these vessels have substantially more firepower than our largest battleships, despite a mass less than one half as large.” He looked around the table. “We’ve already discussed this. But we haven’t examined the enemy’s capability for carrying and supporting ground forces.”
Cain’s head snapped up. He had zoned out a bit when the topic had been naval combat, but the mention of ground fighting woke him from his daydreams. Cain was tired to his core. He missed Sarah; the separations were getting harder to take. It was tough to concentrate, to focus on what had to be done. He had to force himself to participate where years before he’d have been chomping at the bit.