Trial by Fire

by Charles E Gannon

  Hu’urs Khraam thumped a claw. “But you said that Downing was moving slowly to give us time.”

  “He was. He gave you time to consider the alternatives when both you and he had the ability to seriously injure each other.”

  “And now?”

  Riordan stood, bowed. “First Delegate Hu’urs Khraam of the Wholenest, I mean no offense in asking this, but how can you hurt us now? You can no longer hope to prevail on the ground, in the air, or in space. Without orbital interdiction or your PDF systems, our numbers—all those air units inbound from every point of the compass—will overwhelm your forces, even if they are technologically superior. And I must wonder if, deprived of their computers, your forces are still actually superior?”

  First Voice’s ears flattened and quivered. “Riordan may be a liar—I remain uncertain—but he has more of a warrior’s mind than you, Hu’urs Khraam. He is right. The humans have the advantage and are capitalizing upon it. Swiftly.”

  “And we have no means to counter,” Urzueth observed.

  “We do,” First Voice snarled, “and we always have. There are still shuttles and reserve fighters on board our orbiting ships. Blow the landing bay doors with charges. Identify the craft that were powered down during the virus spike. Load them with nuclear weapons and sortie them.”

  Hu’urs Khraam stared at the Hkh’Rkh. “That would be suicide, and pointless, besides.”

  “It does not matter that it is suicide for those tasked to carry it out. And if the threat of additional attacks compels the humans to negotiate for something akin to our original terms, we will have salvaged this disaster. Your disaster, Hu’urs Khraam.”

  Hu’urs Khraam rose up, and Darzhee Kut saw his antennae quiver into rigid anger—but then they drooped. “You are right in one thing, First Voice. This is my disaster. But what you propose will not work. Without orbital interdiction, the human defenses will overwhelm such an unsupported effort. And by the time we could mount the attack you propose, there will be no beachhead left to save. The human cruise missiles will be here in less than twelve minutes, their interceptors and troop-carriers right behind them. No. This debate is over. We must speak with Downing.” He turned to his communications specialist. “Have you reached the humans?”

  “Hu’urs Khraam, my song is a sad one. The human jamming is absolute. What few systems we have left cannot penetrate it at all. We have no way of knowing if anyone is receiving our signals.”

  Caine stepped closer to the command group. The two Hkh’Rkh who had rushed him earlier trailed him with a slow, menacing gait. “Urzueth Ragh, have you been making use of this building’s own satellite conference communication system?”

  Urzueth Ragh seemed embarrassed. “No, we did not. It was too—” He stopped, seemed uncertain how to proceed.

  Caine smiled. “The technology was too primitive to be useful. I understand. But that may be fortunate now. Because you didn’t use it, that system may yet save all our lives. So long as it was not connected to your electronics and was powered down, the virus could not have infected it. Similarly, it should have survived the earlier EMP bursts.”

  “Riordan is right,” agreed Urzueth Ragh eagerly. “We can communicate with them using their own equipment.”

  Hu’urs Khraam rose up, his antenna swinging erect again. “Are our personnel adept at the human controls?”

  “Two of them are. They were specially trained to be able to recognize and operate human machinery.”

  “Activate the system. We must reestablish contact with Mr. Downing before their aerial attack waves arrive.”

  West Java airspace, Earth

  “Quite a view, eh, Dr. Wasserman?”

  Lemuel, lost in his own private world of wonder and horror, nodded, forgetting that Captain Christine “Chris” Oakley, who was in the cockpit at the center of the attack delta, could not see into the forward observation blister where he was sitting.

  They had crossed the Javanese coastline at the Anyer Light, staying low as the Arat Kur interceptors and even tac-air support systems spread out, preparing to take on the human aircraft despite being outnumbered twenty to one. Because Lemuel was precious cargo, Captain Oakley had kept her bird back in the rear of the formation, ready to cut and run at any second.

  But then, everything had changed. Suddenly, the Arat Kur air vehicles were tumbling out of the sky, some ploughing into the overpopulated Javanese countryside, blossoming into roiling orange fireballs, setting off secondaries and torching whole kempangs in seconds. Others wobbled, swerved away like startled birds that flew without knowing where they might seek safety.

  That was when the thin, original wave of human craft—the interceptors and fighters that had followed in behind VTOLs such as Dortmund’s and Thandla’s—raced forward, abandoning the careful, circumspect death dance they had been toeing through at the edge of the Arat Kur airspace. Like sharks detecting bloody prey thrashing in the water, they arrowed in without hesitation or apparent fear.

  Moments later, there were so many friendly missiles in the air that the sky looked like a hyperactive child’s scribbling pad. The white lines and flashing pinpoints were literally everywhere. They rose from the ground, came from overhead, from behind, from in front, from the flanks—all seeking any airborne object that was unanointed by the UV sensitive dyes that they recognized as “friend.”

  And now, rising up over the onrushing horizon like brooding entities of destruction presiding over the aerial slaughter, Lemuel could see three mushroom clouds, dispersing but still distinct.

  Swallowing, unblinking, he could hear the radio chatter in the crew compartment just behind him:

  “What’s the ETA on the fighters and the pathfinder transports in the main wave?”

  “Twenty and twenty-two minutes respectively, Skipper.”

  “And the follow-ups?”

  “Second wave is ten minutes behind them. They’ve got fallback targets if the first bunch secures all the secondary airfields. Which is looking pretty likely.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I’m getting chatter now from rebel radio operators near those fields. Most of the remaining Indonesian forces there are signaling their rejection of Ruap’s government and allegiance to the Confederation. And we’ve got confirmation of the earlier reports that CoDevCo’s clone formation have deserted en masse.”

  “And the other airstrips?”

  “No word, although the bet is that their human garrisons are either planning on laying down arms or are already fading into the bush. Probably to bury their uniforms and then act like they never heard of Ruap or the Arat Kur.”

  Wasserman was not used to such rapid reversals. This morning, it seemed likely that humanity would be perpetually in the thrall of the Arat Kur. Now, with Java’s secondary airbases all but secured, hundreds of transport aircraft were converging on them to begin delivering the steady stream of troops and weapons that would pour into Indonesia until it was firmly back in human hands.

  And then another surprise: over the Bay of Banten, at somewhat lower altitude, there was a blinding white flash.

  “Nuke!” shouted Captain Oakley. “Put your tail to it and go, Maretti.”

  The pilot complied. About two seconds later, the buffeting hit them. It was bad—Wasserman thought they’d shake apart—but ultimately it left them unscathed.

  “Captain, what the hell was that?”

  “Not sure, Dr. Wasserman, but I think the Roaches are shooting blind.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “They’ve got no computers left, almost no communications, and they’re losing the air battle.”

  “So they heaved a tactical nuke into the air on the notion that it would take down more of us than it would of them?”

  Oakley was silent, listening to updates in her earpiece. “That seems to be the case, Doc. Maretti, triple the intervals; we’re spreading out.”

  To Lemuel Wasserman, war had always been a fascinating topic, somewhat like a game, in which
performance statistics and strategies combined and interfaced in complex, competing matrices. But no. It’s just madness and desperation, he realized with a swallow, watched as a few more Arat Kur fighters recovered from faltering dives. But, without computers, and not being seasoned combat pilots, they could not elude or get any advantage over an equal number of Dutch, Chinese, and Swedish interceptors that were on them within five seconds. As the first of the Arat Kur aircraft flashed and then began to trail yellow flame and black smoke, Lemuel Wasserman had a sensation and a sudden desire that surprised him more than the day’s rapid reversals, the ominous mushroom clouds, or the nearby detonation of a five-kiloton nuclear weapon:

  Don’t: don’t kill any more of them than you have to. . . .

  Presidential Palace, Jakarta, Earth

  Caine could not be certain, but as the minutes of uncertainty ticked by, Hu’urs Khraam seemed to weaken, as if he were about to collapse. Obversely, First Voice seemed to have swollen to gigantic proportions, loping to and fro, one claw rubbing at the oddly shaped handle of his sidearm.

  While Darzhee Kut conferred quietly with Hu’urs Khraam, Urzueth Ragh guided the assembly of a patchwork communications and control system that the Arat Kur technicians were building out of those few bits and pieces that the virus had missed. When Downing’s voice finally emerged from the speakers, Hu’urs Khraam rose up.

  “First Delegate Hu’urs Khraam, are you reading me?”

  “Mr. Downing, we can hear you plainly.”

  “Excellent. First Delegate, I’m afraid we don’t have much time left.”

  “I concur, Mr. Downing. To start, please redirect your inbound missiles. We cannot intercept them all.”

  “With respect, First Delegate, I would be surprised if you could intercept any.”

  First Voice literally growled. His retinue stared at him, then at each other, and then placed casual claws on the handles of their firearms. Not promising.

  Hu’urs Khraam did not bother to lie. “You are correct in your supposition. And I am mindful that your submarines could do many times more damage before we regain the ability to sink them or intercept their missiles.”

  “Exactly. Before you regain the ability. And so, because you almost certainly could regain that ability, I cannot let this moment pass. Consequently, if you do not surrender now, I will be forced to allow our missiles to continue on their current courses, to allow our spacecraft to destroy yours without attempting to commandeer them peacefully, and to allow our inbound ground and air units to carry out their attack on your bases. I reemphasize this so that you know I understand both the weakness of your current situation, but also the advantage you will certainly regain within the hour. I can’t allow you to regain that advantage, so you will understand that I am not ‘bluffing.’ I will act as I have said, without regard to your, or our, casualties—unless you immediately capitulate according to the terms I set forth earlier.”

  Hu’urs Khraam looked about the room slowly, as if measuring what to say next. “There are complications.”

  “Such as?”

  “I cannot compel all my forces to stop fighting. We do not have communications left. Those who are no longer in contact with us will not know to cease resisting.”

  “I am sorry, Hu’urs Khraam, but it is just as I warned you during our first communication. The longer we waited to discuss terms, the more needless loss would occur. But I assure you of this. We will make every attempt to spare the lives of your troops. The best way to achieve that is to keep all those currently under your direct control in barracks and unarmed. As more of our forces arrive, we will be able to control the insurgents and send in units to secure you and your personnel.”

  First Voice made a sound as though he were spitting out a bone that had gone down sideways. “You will send your forces to secure us? For what reason?”

  “To ensure your safety against reprisals by the insurgents. Once in Confederation hands, your troops will be treated according to the human conventions for handling prisoners of war.”

  First Voice turned to Hu’urs Khraam. “This conversation must end.”

  Hu’urs Khraam bobbed apologetically. “It cannot.”

  “You are discussing surrender. You simply haven’t spoken the word yet.”

  “I am saving our lives.”

  First Voice reared up very tall, his crest flaring dramatically. “First Delegate Hu’urs Khraam of the Arat Kur Wholenest, the Hkh’Rkh will have no part of this. I refuse to be present, to be accused of giving even that tacit approval, to your discussion of surrendering to these s’fet. And if you do so, I do not wish to hear you do it. For then I would have to not merely renounce our alliance, but name you as our betrayers: enemies more profound and lasting than the humans. I shall leave two of my retinue here to witness what transpires.”

  Darzhee Kut sounded forlorn. “And where shall you go, First Voice?”

  “I go where I should have gone hours ago: to the field of battle. Where I will fight, for your honor as well as my own, until I have no kinsmen or blood left.” He pointed a claw at each of the two huscarles who were still just behind Caine and left with the remainder.

  Downing’s voice was the first sound to break the silence. “First Delegate, am I to understand that you and the Hkh’Rkh are no longer allies?”

  “Mr. Downing, I am uncertain myself. I believe that if I surrender to you, they consider themselves at war with us. At any rate, I cannot make any promises for the Hkh’Rkh. I cannot guarantee that any will surrender. Indeed, if they feel their foes utterly without honor, they may affect the appearance of capitulation simply in order to trick you, to conduct an ambush when they seem to be relenting. I fear that their rage at the insurgents has made them ungovernable.”

  “We fear the same thing about the insurgents in relation to your troops and the Hkh’Rkh, First Delegate Khraam. That is why we are sending in our forces to establish control. If Arat Kur do not fire at our inbound forces, those forces will not fire at Arat Kur. I cannot guarantee the actions of the units that began the day already on Java. Their radios are inoperative, and we have only one overtaxed fiber-optic link sending updates to a limited number of infiltration teams.”

  “I understand and accept that there may still be attacks on our compounds until you reestablish general communications. And what of my rock-siblings who are operating outside the compounds?”

  “Those you can reach should be told to hide, stay put, and to set their suits to broadcast distress signals, if they still function. We will home in on those and presume they indicate the wearer’s intent to surrender.”

  “But most of them have lost their radios to the virus or the EMP strikes. I cannot reach enough of them.”

  “Those are the fortunes of war. And I am sorry to rush you, First Delegate, but judging from the proximity of our missiles, you have approximately ninety seconds to decide if you are actually surrendering to us.”

  Hu’urs Khraam slumped into his couch. “Mr. Downing, you have made the decision for us. We return this place to your control.”

  Beneath the Presidential Palace compound, Jakarta, Earth

  O’Garran leaned back down into the service shaft. “All clear.”

  Opal double-timed it up the ladder, pushing back the thermal imaging goggles as she did. There were lights on overhead. She emerged into a relatively tidy subbasement, quickly moving aside so the other thirty surviving tunnel rats could swarm up and out behind her. “No sign of security cameras?”

  O’Garran pointed at a human model mounted high in a corner of the room. It was probably thirty years old, and had some kind of Arat Kur relay unit attached to it. “Well, there’s that—but it’s as dead as a doorknob.”

  “Unattached?”

  “No, that’s the odd part. It’s still warm from current going through it. But its control elements are gone—and I mean gone. I hooked up a loop-generator, so that if the Roaches brought it back online it would keep showing the same boring picture of an empt
y room. But none of its electronics would turn on.”

  “Fried by the EMP?”

  “Nope. Its logic circuits carry current just fine. It’s more like somebody wiped the Arat Kur controller that was retrofitted to it.”

  Opal nodded. “Maybe someone did wipe its circuit board, and a whole bunch of others to boot.” She turned to Wu. “Anything on the fiber-com about—uh, a computer virus being used against the Roaches?”

  Wu looked over the commo traffic again. “Nothing, Major. But there is a garbled mention about a high-priority extraction subject here in the compound: OPCOM apparently has telemetry on his location.”

  “Telemetry?” Opal frowned. “How the hell do you get telemetry when you don’t have any satellites left?” Very suspicious. Definitely beyond the capabilities of what little human technology was still functioning in Indonesia. Not necessarily beyond the Dornaani and their technomagic mojo, however. “So, who’s the bag job?”

  Wu scanned, read. “The extraction subject is a human diplomat named Caine—”

  “—Riordan,” she finished. Oh, there is a God in heaven, after all. Hold on, Caine.

  I’m coming to get you.

  Near the Presidential Palace compound, Jakarta, Earth

  Trevor Corcoran looked up the street that ran between the buildings they were going to blow down. Where they ended, eighty meters away, stood the nearest walls and buildings of Jakarta’s extended presidential compound. Which, if all went according to plan, were also going to be blasted aside. “Ready?” he asked.

  Lieutenant Christopher “Tygg” Robin looked back over the heads of two-score semiuniformed insurgents who’d spent some time in the military, and were now hunkered down in ranks. “Ready, Trevor.”