Virtues of War

by Bennett R. Coles

  “ASW condition white,” the lieutenant on Chandler’s other side reported. “No stealth contacts. Go for jump.”

  Thomas made a final sweep of his sensors.

  “AVW condition white, no hostile vessels,” he said. “Go for jump.”

  In theory, the first ships through the gate would assess the situation and jump back if things were too hot. In reality, however, Jutland and her escorts would have about twenty seconds to assess and—if required—withdraw before the next ships in the column jumped through. And then the freight train of ships would appear on the other side at the rate of one every two seconds. It was supposed to be an overwhelming show of Terran force. But it had the potential to be a shooting gallery of Terran targets.

  It all depended on what was waiting for them on the other side.

  Jutland, Admiral Halsey, and Cape Town closed in on the datum that pinpointed the secret jump gate, then merged with it. Thomas glanced up, and thought he saw a slight ripple in the star field ahead. Then another, and another.

  The long line of EF ships continued to close on the gate. Thomas locked his eyes on the 3-D display, waiting for one of the three ships to jump back and warn them all off.

  Nothing lit up on the display.

  The seconds ticked by. Somebody made a redundant report that there was no change. Everyone else was silent.

  The first stealth ship reached the gate. Every two seconds a blip disappeared from Thomas’s display, and Normandy pushed forward with the column. He just had time to see Artemis ripple and shrink out of sight before he gripped his chair and waited for the mind-bending moment of extra-dimensional travel.

  Whatever fate awaited them, there was no turning back.

  43

  Troopers in general were renowned for not sweating the political implications of their actions. But even the most jaded trooper in the surviving regiments of Fifth Brigade paused in consideration at the upcoming mission. This under-strength brigade, with a battered collection of Fleet ships to support it, was going to invade one of the most populous, heavily defended planets in the human sphere—second only to Earth itself.

  The officers in charge realized this, and fell back on an age-old method for preventing troopers from thinking too much—constant activity.

  The Corps hangar in the bowels of Normandy practically writhed with movement. At the after end, rows of hover tanks hummed in position above the deck, their turrets shifting as they engaged simulated targets. Inside the tanks, troopers were embroiled in their second four-hour simulation of the day.

  At the forward end of the hangar, engineers conducted quick construction drills, assembling short bridges and fortifications. And in the vast, open center of the hangar, the infantry fought their way through a maze of hastily constructed alleys and three-story buildings.

  Katja paced in the observation gondola perched above the deck on the port bulkhead. She was getting used to the magnetic boots that kept her down in the zero-g, but she wasn’t used to the churning in her stomach. Some of the other officers had complained in the morning meeting that troopers couldn’t effectively train for ground combat in zero-g, even with magnetic boots, and Katja agreed. Movement wasn’t as natural, and loose objects still floated.

  At least once an exercise some eager trooper would attempt to leap into the fray, only to find himself floating helplessly away from any handhold.

  Commander Vici met the complaints with her usual icy disdain for stupidity. The EF was moving into the very heartland of the enemy, and the Centauri foe was nothing like the primitive, disorganized Cerberans. Centauria—like Terra—had a system-wide tracking system, generally used for rogue asteroids, which would easily detect a cluster of artificial gravity wells moving inbound.

  At most it would be a matter of hours before the Centauri Space Guard detected them and sounded a red alert. The sheer gravimetric size of a warship would suggest a body the size of a small moon, and would stir the hornet’s nest.

  Katja knew that their only hope was utter secrecy, and while the zero-g and magnetic boots impeded training, nausea was a price she was willing to pay to avoid being singularized by Centauri stealth ships.

  Recalling the invasion ship Sicily vanishing in orbit over Laika she looked around the giant hangar in Normandy, and realized that size only made them a target. Sicily had been an identical twin to Normandy, and despite all her strength and thousands of troopers, she had simply ceased to exist in a microsecond burst of gravitons.

  Katja shivered. Better to die from a bullet, facing your enemy, than to go like that.

  “Ma’am,” one of the simulation operators said, “your platoon is approaching the ambush.”

  Katja chastised herself inwardly for letting her mind wander, and moved to stand behind the sim operators.

  The buildings and streets on the hangar deck were real enough, yet all of her troopers on the exercise were wearing their special training helmets which superimposed a photo-realistic landscape, to give the impression of a real Centauri town. It was fully dynamic with projected civilians as well as combatants, along with smoke, dust, and all the other aspects of the fog of war.

  When acting as a participant, Katja often found it easy to completely lose herself in the simulation, but as an observer, she found it looked odd to watch her troopers moving through empty corridors linked with plastic barricades.

  Commander Vici had told Katja that morning that her platoon was going to have their chain of command tested—Katja was going to be “killed” in the drop ship descent, so that one of her sergeants would have to take over. She hadn’t even stepped planetside.

  To his credit, Sergeant Rao had taken command quickly and was doing an admirable job of directing the platoon through the early stages of the attack. Katja had actually recommended to Commander Vici that Sergeant Chang be the platoon second-in-command, but Vici felt it best to keep a long-serving member of Fifth Platoon at the top, in part to avoid resentment from the troopers. Thus, Chang was leading the reserve group.

  Fifth Platoon had returned to Normandy from their disastrous raid on Cerberus with heavy casualties, and the ranks had been filled in by members of the other FAC strike teams. Scott Lahko’s Second Platoon had been similarly reinforced. Platoon personnel could be wary of replacements, especially just before a battle, but fast-attack troopers were chosen from the very best, and were generally quite senior.

  Fifth Platoon now had two extra sergeants who were serving as squad leaders, and five extra squad leaders who were reduced to grunts, but Katja hoped that the extra experience would overcome any ego issues, especially when the bullets really started flying.

  And when people were getting killed, each squad had an experienced member who could take over.

  There had never been any real question, upon their return from Cerberus, of whether Katja would remain in command of Fifth Platoon. She hadn’t assumed anything, but had simply reported to Commander Vici, fully prepared to relinquish her position. Vici had conducted a thorough debrief and sent Katja on her way. Katja carried on filling in as platoon commander, and waited for new orders—which never came. It might be that everyone was just too busy to worry about whether she was supposed to be commanding Fifth Platoon.

  Whatever the reason, she wasn’t going to speak up.

  On the training ground below, Rao was leading his troops right into the trap. On the sim panel, Katja could see the snipers in the upper windows of the street and the fortified defenders behind the double doors. She frowned, and gripped her belt restlessly. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

  Just as Fifth Platoon blew open the double doors, the snipers opened fire from above. The leading troopers through the doors were mowed down by the defenders. Shouts echoed up from the training ground over the clatter of scrambling bodies, while in the sim world Fifth Platoon charged aggressively into the guns of the defenders. With overwhelming firepower they took out the defenders inside the building.

  Chang’s rear guard lobbed grenades into every
window in the street, taking out the snipers with deadly—and completely excessive—use of force.

  Not good enough. She leaned over to the sim operator. “Sergeant, upgrade the snipers to rocket snipers, here and in the next street. And double the number of APRs.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  There were thirty units vying for training on this same simulation ground—Levantine Regiment alone had six troops of infantry, and each troop had five platoons. That meant more than fifteen hundred troopers trying to get training on this same simulation ground. Even with each scenario limited to an hour, each platoon got less than one combat training session per day.

  Every scenario had to push them to the max.

  The platoon regrouped beyond the double doors. Katja listened on the command circuit as Rao gave instructions to watch for snipers.

  Good. She nodded to herself.

  Chang and the reserves cleared the second story, taking out two of the newly added rocket snipers. That provoked hostile fire from the other snipers across the street, but Chang moved quickly to clear the blast zones and return fire effectively.

  The operator glanced up at her. “Would you like me to add some more snipers, ma’am?”

  She shook her head. The lesson had been learned.

  Behind her, five troopers pulled themselves onto the gondola—the ones who had been killed in the initial ambush. They glanced at her with varying degrees of sheepishness. She motioned for them to spread out and watch the simulation. Even if they couldn’t participate, they could still learn.

  Below, the platoon advanced cautiously, using proper cover procedures to watch all the windows in the street. Katja glanced at the display to where the APRs were rolling forward. She didn’t need to access the helmet cam displays—she knew very well what advancing APRs looked like.

  Full data downloads had been delivered to Command, revealing the events from combat on Cerberus. Katja cringed when she envisioned all of the senior officers, and then all of the troopers, examining her every move in combat.

  She, too, had reviewed the scenarios in Free Lhasa and Thapa’s farm, gone over them minutely, and thought about how she could have done things better. Thomas had once said to her that a strike officer learned or died.

  Well, she wasn’t dead yet, so hopefully she could still learn.

  She had expected pitying stares from the senior platoon leaders, yet those hadn’t materialized. In fact, she’d noticed a change in attitude from just about everyone. Scott Lahko was still full of his own bravado, but his gentle needling had been replaced by requests for her tactical advice. The other Saracen officers, all of whom were older and had served longer than she, similarly sought her opinions after each of their platoon exercises.

  She supposed it was just that she was the latest officer to see actual combat. Once everyone got over that, and really looked at her success rate, she doubted she would be sought after for advice.

  Her first strike on Thapa’s farm had been a waste of time and had resulted in civilian casualties. With the second strike on the farm, she had walked into an ambush. Her boarding of the Astrid had produced no hard evidence, and provoked a Centauri stealth attack. Her crazy boarding of the Centauri battle cruiser had killed half her strike team.

  Her command of Fifth Platoon had led to huge casualties, and surrender. If not for the rescue, she’d now be a human public toilet in the central square of Free Lhasa.

  And her one mission that might actually be considered a “success”—the rescue of the hostages—had provoked Centauria to declare war on Terra.

  What would her father think? Army and Astral Force didn’t talk much, but Storm Banner Leader Emmes knew plenty of well-placed Astral personnel.

  As she stood quietly behind the simulation operators, towered over by her “dead” troopers, Katja suddenly fought to suppress tears. Her father was respected in both armed services, and rightfully so. As for her…

  Thomas Kane had proved himself a hero by saving his crew and risking his own life to save his ship. That kid, Jack Mallory, had single-handedly destroyed a stealth ship and discovered the Centauri jump gate. Even that slut Breeze had proved her worth by finding the hostages in Free Lhasa, and arranging to rescue Katja.

  All Katja had done was get a lot of people killed and start a war.

  Not now, she thought, and she shook her head. A few muttered comments from the troopers on the gondola focused her on the display again.

  The platoon was advancing down APR lane, moving cautiously, still unaware of the impending threat. She began to regret her decision to increase the number of APRs—slaughtering her platoon would do little to increase experience or morale.

  Then she noticed movement to one side as someone in simple coveralls—rather than full training gear—pulled up onto the simulator platform. She immediately recognized Commander Vici and felt her stomach tighten. Her platoon was about to get wiped out, and the troop commander had come along to see it.

  Katja turned to face her, hopefully distracting her from the action below. “Lieutenant Emmes and Fifth Platoon on exercise, ma’am.”

  But Vici looked right past her at the display. The lead squads were just about to discover the APRs.

  “I know who you are, Emmes. That looks like a few more APRs than the scenario called for.” Vici glanced at her. “Trying to make heroes of your troopers?”

  She felt her cheeks flush. “No, ma’am. I… just know how little time we have to train.”

  Shouts from the training ground saved her from having to continue her explanation. The platoon had spotted the APRs, and vice versa. On the deck below, troopers dove for cover and pointed empty rifles at open air. On the display in front of her, a bloody battle played itself out. The sergeants stayed cool on the circuit, deep voices trying to keep the platoon united in purpose, even as they scattered for cover.

  Wild shots filled the virtual air.

  Then a single voice barked from the deck, clearly audible over the clatter of armored bodies. It was Trooper Sakiyama, forsaking comms and shouting instructions to everyone near him.

  “Use grenades on the weapons pods! The armor’s too thick!”

  Under his direction, one squad focused their fire on the lead APR’s vulnerable points, disabling it in seconds. They then switched target and took down the second APR in a similar fashion. Even as simulated fire rained down on them, and troopers dropped to the deck as casualties, Fifth Platoon picked up on the tactic and began to systematically pick off the lumbering Centauri robots.

  Katja felt a smile tug at her lips. The bastards had been paying attention after all. Her eyes fixated on the display, and she almost missed Vici’s comment.

  “Looks like Sakiyama reviewed his combat log from Cerberus.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “On that raid, he wasted most of his grenades against APR armor, until you set the example for him.”

  Katja remembered the incident well. She just had trouble believing that Vici grasped it so clearly, having nothing to go on but frantically shifting helmet cams.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Vici gave her a hard stare, but there was a subtlety in the look that Katja didn’t recognize.

  “Emmes, tomorrow the EF is sending a Hawk to recce out Centauria’s homeworld. As the Saracens have been designated to lead the first wave, the colonel has asked me to go along as the brigade’s eyes. I’d like you to come as my second opinion.”

  Katja was stunned. Surely the first lieutenant should go, or one of the other troop commanders. But Commander Vici had asked her, and was now waiting for her answer.

  “Of course, ma’am. Thank you.”

  Vici glanced again at the simulation display, where Fifth Platoon was advancing cautiously on the wreckage of the APRs.

  “Sergeant, amend the scenario to mimic the Fifth Platoon run,” she instructed. “If they can do it, and against those odds, so can everyone else.”

  The simulation operator made a note. “Yes, ma’am.”
<
br />   She pushed off the console and glided away.

  Katja felt her smile growing, but pushed it down under the mask of command. Her father might consider her worthless, and Thomas Kane might use her like a whore, but here among the Saracens—in the Corps—she was appreciated.

  44

  Rapier was still too broken to fly. Ever since the decision had been made to invade the Centauri homeworld, all maintenance attention had been focused on Normandy’s one hundred strike fighters. The mechanics had been doing their best, but parts had been prioritized for those fast-attack craft that were still operational, pushing Rapier even further down the priority list.

  And Thomas had other concerns. He’d always thought that his time in command would be the surest way to get ahead, but being a staff officer in Chandler’s command team was arguably even better.

  As an FAC captain, he was just one of nine. Current circumstances had reduced them to executing routine combat patrols for the Fleet. Even though he had received a Distinguished Conduct Medal for his little maneuver at the Battle of Laika, such duties were all but invisible.

  However, as the anti-vessel warfare controller, he had a chance to prove himself in a role that was billeted for a commander. Although it hadn’t been his intention to be given the position—not under these circumstances—fortune seemed to be favoring him.

  He took his seat at the command console on Normandy’s bridge, feeling a new sense of self-confidence in this crowd of mostly senior officers. The other two controllers nodded greetings to him. Commander Erikson gave him a glance bereft of warmth. Colonel Korolev and all five of his troop commanders hovered around the console—a concentration of senior officers that was rare.

  Breeze rushed in moments before the scheduled start time, quickly uploading some data. Thomas tried to not watch her movements, but even strapped into his seat he found himself rising to the occasion. He hated himself for it, but his thoughts often wandered back to the memory of their hour together in his cabin. She’d certainly enjoyed it, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she might be up for an encore.