Chapter 15
Straker, CCC, Independence
As Straker sipped his caff and waited at the flagship’s CCC central table for the briefing to begin, he wondered how Carla was doing. The truth was, he actually rather preferred to have gone to Crossroads himself and let her handle the preliminary battles here, but he thought he was better equipped to deal with the Salamanders in case anything strange came up. In his estimation, the risk of a misunderstanding with their client-allies was greater than the risk of something going wrong on the heavily monitored, heavily policed commercial station.
That didn’t mean there was no risk to Carla… but he couldn’t do anything about it. He had to trust the two of them would be careful, do what had to be done, and get the hell back to the Breakers as quickly as possible.
The rest of the senior commanders and staff finished arriving. Commander Sinden picked up the cursor and activated her comlink so those elsewhere could follow along with the simulcast. The holotank rose smoothly from the table’s center, and the lights dimmed for better visibility.
“Good afternoon Generals, ladies, gentlemen, and others.” She nodded politely to several Ruxin neuters in the second ring of seats, and she may have winked slightly.
Was that a glimmer of humor from the too-earnest brainiac, Straker wondered? Or was she simply being over-thorough, covering all her verbal bases?
“With the destruction of eleven Rhino warships, we assess the threat from high orbit and outward is low.”
“We’re sure nobody’s hiding on any orbital habs or facilities?” Commodore Gray asked.
“We’re sure, ma’am. They’ve all been scanned thoroughly. Salamander marines have occupied the critical ones. All non-secured weaponry has been destroyed by pinpoint fire—even anti-debris lasers, at your orders.”
“Go on.”
The holotank zoomed in on the small world’s single main continent, a slug-shaped land mass nine thousand kilometers long by two thousand wide wrapping halfway around the planet and straddling the equator. Thousands of military icons appeared in dense clusters—near cities, lining the coast, and at the tops of mountains.
“Enemy atmospheric defenses remain extremely dense. The Rhinos have militarized their economy and embarked on a building program designed to dominate their planet. In fact, I suggest the Salamanders downplayed the threat in briefing us.”
“So much for not lying,” Loco muttered.
“Like lawyers in a courtroom, is what Captain Jilani said,” Straker reminded him. “That’s why our own intel people are conducting such a thorough analysis.” He nodded for Sinden to continue.
“While we hold the orbital ‘high ground’ and are relatively safe from their long-range weaponry, our resources pale in comparison to that of an entire world. The closer and lower in orbit we get, the more the advantage shifts to their favor—as more of their systems can reach us. They simply have much more.”
“So, further low precise firing passes are out of the question,” Gray said flatly.
“That’s an operational decision, ma’am, but our simulations show that employing such tactics would be costly.”
“What about long-range bombardment?”
“We could bombard them at our leisure with captured asteroids, but the collateral damage would be extreme. Sufficient bombardment to degrade the military threat by fifty percent would also devastate the ecosystem. Or we could go for saturation missile strikes with enough nukes to get through. Collateral damage would still be high.”
“Our contract already prohibits that level of devastation,” Straker said. “Where does that leave us?” He already knew, generally, but he wanted Sinden to move on to what really interested him.
The inevitable ground action.
“The good news, General, is that this atmospheric defense buildup means their ground defenses are relatively weak. It appears the Rhino war strategy has been to shut down the Salamander ability to fight them in the air or reach targets with missiles. Interestingly, the contested wetlands are not particularly secure. A suspicious mind might almost think they were inviting attack and casualties—or at least, they don’t particularly care about their own lower classes who occupy the dense housing recently built there.”
Straker nodded. “The wetlands are slums, then. The Rhino leaders have secured their rear areas and their economy, and are cynically using their surplus poor to deny the Salamanders what they need—which happens to also be right on their sea border. They know the aquatics’ ability to invade dry land is limited.”
“Correct, sir. Because of that, the Rhinos have deprioritized conventional ground forces. Once inside their territory, their underbelly is quite soft. Depending on our objectives, Breaker ground forces should be able to operate with high effectiveness in the short term.”
“And in the long term?” Straker asked.
“We’re fighting a whole world, sir. The Salamanders have to quickly use the opportunity we create to employ their own forces toward their chosen military objectives. If they fail, we will have to extract within five to ten days, or face slow annihilation. If they succeed, we will still need resupply and rotation to a secure base for repairs and rest.” Sinden straightened. “I’m also concerned with the lack of objectives, sir. I can’t make proper assessments unless I know what our specific goals are.”
“Indy, did the Salamanders give you the data you requested?”
“Within the last few minutes, sir. With your permission, I’ll take over.”
Sinden’s usual stiff demeanor chilled further as she put down the cursor and assumed a position of rigid parade rest. Apparently some professional jealousy there, Straker thought. Hard for an officer whose value rested on her mind not to feel helpless in the face of an AI that could think a thousand times faster than she could. It might make her wonder whether she were even needed.
But Sinden was needed, along with the multiple organic viewpoints of her team. It was stupid to have one person in charge of everything, no matter how capable. A military unit needed redundancy and freedom of thought to work well.
And there was always that niggling concern in the back of every human’s head, wondering if—or when—Indy would go insane, like all other AIs before her.
“Go ahead, Indy,” Straker said. “You first, and then we’ll continue with Commander Sinden’s briefing.”
Indy’s holo-avatar glowed to life across the table from Sinden, appearing as a woman of indeterminate age and no particular beauty clad in the uniform of a ship captain. Straker guessed she was trying to seem as plain and professionally low-key as possible.
“The Eprem’s—the Salamanders’—main concern is the chemical weapons the Rhinos are preparing to use against the aquatic regions.” The avatar gestured, and a thin cursor beam emanated from her hand to point at areas within the holotank as she recited. “The weaponization depots, where the trinary chemicals are loaded into munitions and deployment systems, are in these four dispersed locations, deep in their rear areas. They are in turn served by these twelve chemical factories. Each factory produces one of the three chemicals needed to create the poisonous agent. The chemicals are shipped in liquid form on trains to the depots. Each chemical is toxic, but not weapons-grade, by itself.”
“So we can hit the factories, the trains, or the depots,” Straker said.
“Or the hundreds of precursor suppliers to the factories,” Indy said. “Each stage is more heavily guarded deeper inward.”
“How close are they to deployment of the poison?”
“The Salamanders judge two weeks, plus or minus a few days. This agrees with my own assessment.”
Straker drummed his fingers. “Is it too late to hit the precursor production?”
“Not if we did it immediately. If we performed a low pass, combined with subsurface skimmer ops, we could set them back one to three months—but as Commander Sinden already pointed out, we’d take heavy ship damage.”
“And if we hit the factories?”
>
“We need to strike within five to seven days to be sure.”
“Factory defenses?”
“Moderate and thickening. The Rhinos must be aware of the Salamanders’ desire to stop production.”
“What about striking the trains?”
“It’s nearly the same timeline,” Indy said. “The trains will begin running as the chemicals become available.”
“How long are the train routes?”
“Fifty to one hundred kilometers each.”
Straker mused, glancing at Loco, Heiser and Winter nearby. “So, we either hit fixed, heavily defended targets, or mobile, hard-to-cover ones.”
“Or the central depots,” Loco said. “That would cut our targets from twelve to four.”
“No,” Sinden said, apparently unable to contain herself. “We don’t need to hit twelve of the chemical factories, only four of them.”
“Of course,” said Straker with a snap of his fingers. “As long as we destroy one hundred percent of one of the three chemicals, they can’t make the poisons.”
“A fine insight,” Indy answered mildly. “There’s a problem—the Rhinos know this too. If they run the trains at variable times, they will severely complicate any plan of ours to destroy the entirety of one type of chemical.”
“So the safe bet is to hit the factories—all four of one kind of facility. How much will that set them back?”
“Three to six months. That satisfies the Salamanders’ initial requirements.”
“Is one or more of the chemicals less stable than the others?” Sinden asked. “Harder to manufacture?”
The avatar highlighted four factories out of twelve. “Yes. This one, designated Romeo. These are also the most heavily defended factories. Sierra is also volatile, and requires special handling. Tango is relatively stable, and its factories the most lightly defended.”
Sinden smiled thinly. “Perfect. The Rhinos have made a mistake.”
“A mistake?” Indy asked.
Sinden’s smile broadened, as if she had scored a triumph over the AI. Straker wondered whether Indy was sandbagging, throwing Sinden a bone, or whether the AI actually missed something. “As Romeo is the most fragile chemical, that’s the one we don’t need to destroy. Time and complexity will do it for us. If we hit the most stable of the three, chemical Tango, which is also least defended, we leave them with the two hardest to handle.”
“But the most complex factories will be the most difficult to rebuild,” Gray said. “Shouldn’t we hit those?”
“My analysis shows Commander Sinden is correct,” Indy said. “I also recommend attacking chemical Tango first. We might be able to hit the others afterward. The situation will be fluid.”
Straker rubbed his hands on his knees, taking a deep breath. “Not the weaponization depots? We sure?”
The holotank zoomed in and highlighted the center of the continent as Indy spoke. “The depots are the farthest in, with the heaviest defenses. Anything coming in by air or drop will be shot down. General Straker, do you really want to cover an extra hundred kilometers’ distance and hit harder targets—targets they fully expect to be attacked?”
“Probably not. Anyone with dissenting views?” Straker swung around in his chair to make sure everyone had a chance to be noticed. “Then it’s the Tango factories. But we don’t tell the Salamanders our exact objectives yet. We have no idea how well they can keep a secret from the Rhinos. Indy, you done?”
“I am.”
“Commander Sinden, please continue.”
Sinden stepped forward again and picked up the cursor, clearing her throat. “Thank you, sir. The Salamanders have two other major long-term concerns to be addressed after the short-term chemical threat is degraded. One is the seizure of their wetland breeding grounds. They want them back. The problem is, even if they win and a settlement is reached, Rhino aggression and overpopulation won’t go away. The wetlands will always be under threat, and they’re difficult to defend.”
“Not our problem, as I see it. We leave the wetlands to the Salamanders themselves. We have enough flexibility in the contract to do that.” Straker interlaced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “You mentioned two concerns? What’s the other”
“Yes, sir. The key issue, the root cause of this whole war, is the Rhinos’ new biotech. Before its introduction, the two races lived in relative peace and cooperation. Now, the entire character of the Rhino species has changed.”
“Changed how?” Straker asked.
His sister Mara stood. “Glad you asked. It’s all about sex.”
Loco’s sleepy eyes opened wide. “Usually these briefings are boring, Doc, but—”
Mara smiled and jabbed a finger at him. “Shut up and let the grownups talk. Like I said, sex. As with most sexually binary species, the Rhinos have cycles that ebb and flow. Females come into estrus, give off pheromones, males respond and compete for the females, they make babies. Historically, a combination of culture, drugs, and a relatively low birthrate kept their society stable, with slow, manageable growth. Then came this biotech.”
“Which did what exactly?” Straker asked, trying to avoid a history lesson.
“Rejuvenation. The biotech lengthened life, reinvigorated the old. Unfortunately, according to Salamander intel, some greedy Rhino smuggled out an early, unfinished version and sold it to a rival biotech company, which rushed it to market without adequate testing. It spread like wildfire, self-administered and sexually transmitted. It made them youthful, yes, but it also left the Rhino breeding cycle permanently turned on.”
Loco guffawed. “So their males are running around with permanent hard-ons and their females are all like cats in heat, barefoot and pregnant.”
Mara snarled, “You may think that’s funny, General Paloco, but it’s a disaster for them and for the Salamanders. Their population exploded and continues to do so. They’re all acting like horny, drunk adolescents, and none of them want to give it up. They’re addicts—they can see what’s destroying them, but they just want more. They can’t quit. Not on their own. So we have to do it for them.”
Straker cleared his throat loudly. “It’s not our job to fix their society, Doctor.”
“Didn’t seem to stop you before, Liberator.”
Straker controlled his temper. “It didn’t—but my viewpoint’s changed. I’m not in that business anymore. We’re here to do what we’re getting paid to do and to lose as few people doing it as possible.”
“Why can’t we do both?”
Gray spoke up. “The Salamanders must be working on the problem themselves. Some kind of reversal process? A cure? As General Straker says, we’re being paid to stave off disaster and buy them time, not to solve all their underlying problems.”
Mara placed her palms flat on the table, speaking earnestly. “They don’t have the biological expertise. I’m not sure we do either, but we’re more advanced than they are. Between me, Indy, Murdock, the Ruxins and some other good people on our side, we have a shot. Look, I’m a doctor, and I’ve got a chance to cure an entire society of a disease that’s killing them. How can that be wrong? We have to try.”
“Let’s say you came up with this cure,” Straker said. “How do we get them to take their medicine? They won’t want it.”
Mara took a deep breath and crossed her arms defensively. “I’m working on that.”
“Fine. Keep working, but your priorities have to be with current operations—and with our own people. Understood?”
Mara glared at her brother. “Don’t patronize me, Derek. I know my job. Don’t forget, I developed the biotech that runs through the veins of all our combat troops, yours included. But imagine if it made us all into berserkers, attacking everyone. There would be two options. Kill or cure. If we don’t cure the Rhinos, they’ll never quit expanding. They’ll wipe out the Salamanders, overpopulate their planet, and move into space. We’ve got a chance to prevent that. I’ve got that chance. We have other doctors f
or routine work, but there’s only one me. I’m like you, Derek—the best at my particular job. So just let me do it!” She threw up her hands and stomped off.
Loco muttered something about Mara needing her own cure. Straker sighed as others around him turned their eyes away in embarrassment, but he refused to fool himself—Mara was right, in her way, even if an intelligence briefing was the wrong time to say so.
He raised his voice. “Doctor Straker is only trying to do what’s right, but that’s for another day. For now, we do what’s right by serving our clients. Commander Sinden, please go on.”
“Thank you, sir. Now, I’ll go into detail on the Rhino ground defenses.”
Two hours later, Straker called an end to the briefing, saying, “Let’s take a break. Nancy, put the rest of the information on the network. I’ll send you my intended course of action by 2100 at the latest. You can work up combat route packages overnight. I want those packages loaded into all vehicle and suit SAIs by noon tomorrow, continuously updated. Plan for a combat offload and movement directly to assault, maximum optempo, within the next 36 hours. Brigade and battalion commanders, join me in Conference Room Two in one hour to hammer out our draft battle plan. Dismissed.”
Chapter 16
General Straker, Premdor-2, on the beachhead
Back in a mechsuit again, Straker breathed deeply. It felt good, as it always did, like a familiar drug, always waiting and ever calling.
Like the addictive Opter nectar that he’d beaten. He seldom thought about it nowadays, but when he did, he tried to put it out of his mind. It reminded him every strong man was just one weakness away from disaster… especially a man with responsibilities balanced on the edge of a knife, where one mistake could destroy all he loved.
One of the benefits of being part of a vast, legitimate military was the knowledge that the power structure would take care of the families of warriors that died in the line of duty.
No more.
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