by John Ringo
The bullets were accelerated to a small percentage of the speed of light before they left the barrel of the rifles. This gave them a tremendous, really an overkill, punch at the end, which explained why a three-millimeter-wide, four-millimeter-long teardrop was causing explosions the size of artillery shells.
But that took power, lots of it. The bullets were fired in a stream, much faster than any conventional machine gun, with multiple rounds in the barrel at any one time. And power was power. To cause the effect of a hundred kilos of TNT required that much power be put into pushing them down the barrel.
The power was supposed to come from the rounds themselves. “Standard” rounds had a droplet of antimatter at the base, sufficient to power the round and even bleed a little over to the suits. But the humans didn’t have the technology to create the ultra-miniature containment system necessary. So since the blockade of Earth had shut off the flow of Galactic Technology, and as “standard” rounds become few and far between, the suits had fallen back on “emergency” procedures, using the power in their suits to drive their guns.
And that was a major power drain.
Mike watched for a moment as one of the suits topped up, and then he followed the crawling tech suit as it made its way laboriously to the next position. Even as the tech moved, the previous suit’s power levels dropped noticeably. And the antimatter pack it was dragging showed yellow.
“I’m open to suggestions,” Mike said, trying to keep the weariness out of his voice.
“We’re already sniping the God Kings,” Duncan replied.
The normals that made up the bulk of the Posleen assault were of subhuman intelligence, but the God King leaders made up for it. With the battalion nearly invisible in their holes, it was hard for the normals to even find a target. But whenever a God King saw the streams of silver it naturally tracked back to the starting point and targeted it. Whenever a God King engaged a target, all the normals around him, bonded and unbonded, tended to aim at the same target. And when those storms of projectiles came in, suits, or at least the extended weapons systems, died.
To reduce the problem, they had sent the scout suits — which used a lower velocity projectile that was nearly undetectable in a battle — up the slopes on either side to target the leaders in the horde.
The problem with that was that spotting God Kings who were off their tenar was hard. They had crests, but if they didn’t lift the crests, which laid down against the long Posleen neck, they were almost indistinguishable from their troops.
On the other hand, God Kings tended to raise their crests under stress.
“We’re selecting for smart God Kings, you know,” Mike said. “We have been for years.”
“I suppose we have,” Duncan replied.
“If this is what we get for it, I think it was a bad idea,” Stewart said, then yelled.
“You okay?” Mike checked his monitors. Stewart’s weapon was rated as destroyed.
“Well, I thought I’d seen it all,” Stewart replied, slowly. “You know, it’s really spectacular when a Posleen round goes in the barrel as one of ours is going out.”
“You okay?”
“Well, my hand’s still there.” The command suits did not have extensors so the commanders and staff were firing their rifles by holding them up out of their holes.
“We’ve got about four more hours of power,” Duncan said, getting the discussion back on track. The guns were firing almost on their own; killing Posleen was an easy multi-task for everyone in the battalion at this point.
“There’s a local cache,” Mike said, quietly. “It’s even got a battalion load of standard rounds in it. And an antimatter pack.”
“There is?” Duncan said. “It’s not on the maps.”
“That’s because it’s off the books.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. And OH.” Mike grimaced, unseen, inside his suit. “The problem, of course, is getting to it.”
“Where is it?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Near Rabun Gap, GA, United States of America, Sol III
0518 EDT Monday September 28, 2009 AD
Mueller slid down the muddy slope and dropped to the ledge outside the cave, letting the muzzle of his rifle lead him in.
The cave that held what Papa O’Neal had referred to as “Cache Four” was on a nearly vertical, tree-covered slope. How the eldest O’Neal had gotten the dozens and dozens of large and heavy boxes into the cave was a mystery, one that on their previous trip Mueller and Mosovich had been careful to avoid questioning. But on that same trip they had also been attacked by a feral Posleen as they exited the cave. Thus Mueller’s caution as he entered it.
The first change that he noted was that there was a heavy metal door in place; the cache had been open the last time they were there. All things considered, though, it was probably for the best, what with the occasional nuke round dropping in the pot.
The problem being that they needed what was on the other side of the door and there didn’t seem to be any latches on this side.
That, on the other hand, seemed to indicate that someone or something was on the other side.
He was tired and the thoughts seemed to come slowly. He’d been using Provigil but all that really did was keep you awake; you still got “tired stupid.” Now he turned the gun around and banged on the door with the butt.
“Anyone home?”
* * *
Cally sat up at the bang and the muffled voice on the other side. It sounded like a human, but it was possible it was just a very smart Posleen.
She picked up her Steyr and went to the door. “Who’s there?”
“Cally?”
“Yeah, who’s there?”
“Mueller! Open up.”
She set the gun down and pulled the door back, composing her features as she did so.
Mueller just looked at her for a second then wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug.
“Jesus Christ! We were sure you were dead.”
Cally wiped at the tears in her eyes as the rest descended the slope and slipped through door. She had to hug each in turn.
“Wendy, you made it!”
“Thanks to luck and some really weird shit,” the girl replied, hugging back. “Papa?”
Cally just shook her head, wiping at the tears again and wondering at the frozen expression on the face of the unknown young woman who was last through the door.
Wendy turned and looked at her. “Shari…”
“Shari?” Cally asked. The woman in the doorway was about half the age of the woman who had come to visit their farm, and promptly fallen in love with her still older grandfather. But the face… “Shari?! Oh, God, Shari…”
“It’s okay, dear,” the woman replied, stone faced. “We all die somewhere.”
“No, it’s not okay!” Cally said, taking her hands. “We were… talking, just when the Posleen attacked. He, we, were really looking forward to you coming to live with us. I was, too. I… I’m so sorry!”
“I think I’m supposed to be comforting you,” Shari said, starting to cry. “Not the other way around.”
“We need to get the kids bedded down,” Elgars said, stolidly. “We can talk about this later.”
Cally showed them boxes with sleeping gear, both poncho liners and blankets, then started an electric space heater; the cave had been comfortable enough for her but the kids were obviously whipped. All of the children, even Billy, given reasonably dry clothes and a comfortable place to lie down, fell asleep almost before they were flat.
“How did you get here?” Cally asked.
“Walked,” Mueller said, pulling off his boots with a groan. “The kids were about dead the last five miles; we had to carry them.”
“There is plenty to tell,” Wendy said. “But first, how did you get here and do you know what’s going on?”
“When the attack got bad we moved to the bunker,” Cally said slowly; it was obviously hard for her to tell the story. “We had Posl
een moving up the valley and… things like flying saucers overhead. Then, when the lander came in sight, Papa told me to pull back. He was going follow right afterwards. Then there was a bright flash. I was in the doorway to the inner shelter and it sort of blew me in, I guess. I came to and the main passage had collapsed behind me. After I got my shit together I went out through the side passage; it had a cave-in on it, but I could wriggle through. The valley was… trashed. It had to be a nuke or something. The lander and Posleen were gone and the battle in the Gap seemed to have stopped, which I thought was pretty bad. I took a quick look around but everything was just… gone. Then I went to the bunker and found… Well, I could barely move the rubble but I found Papa’s hand. It was cold.” She stopped and shook her head.
“I will not bawl like a baby because my grandfather is d-dead,” she half snarled, half sobbed. “Over five billion people on this miserable ball have died in the past years, I will not cry over one more!”
“Yes you will,” Shari said, leaning forward and taking her in her arms. “You don’t cry for him, you cry for yourself and that he is no longer there.” Shari wiped her eyes on the top of the girl’s head. “You cry for your loss.”
“I want him back!” Cally shouted. “He wasn’t supposed to die! I needed him!”
“I want him back, too,” Shari said. “I do, too.”
“The bastard just left me in the middle of a nuclear God-damned war,” she said, sobbing.
“Well, that’s one way to look at it,” Mueller responded, stirring a pot of mushy, freeze-dried noodles and chicken.
“How?” Cally snapped.
“I always knew the old guy was tough and I was right; it took a nuke to take him out.”
“Oh, Mueller,” Cally said with a chuckling sob.
“We’ll go down and check on the body,” Wendy said, sitting up.
“Why?” Elgars replied. “The environment is incredibly hostile; going to recover a body that the Posleen have probably already eaten doesn’t strike me as a good tactical action.”
Shari turned on the captain with a snarl, but Mosovich leaned forward and laid a hand on her arm. “Captain, it’s not good tactics but it is good in other ways. Most of the best units refuse to leave anyone behind, living or dead. It’s a fifteen-minute walk. It will also permit us to get a good look at the valley. Recon is part of our job description.”
Elgars frowned then nodded. “Okay, approved. If the security conditions permit. But somebody has to stay here to guard the fort and watch the children; we’re not taking them with us.”
“I’ll do that,” Shari said.
“I see you’re carrying,” Cally said, wiping her eyes and deliberately changing the subject from the loss of her grandfather. “And doing so like you know how. I guess you guys saw some action on the way?”
“The Sub-Urb is gone,” Wendy said by way of reply. “We got out through an Indowy facility in the basement, in the agricultural section actually. It had some… weird facilities.” She gestured at Shari.
“And part of the secret of my miraculous rebirth was explained,” Elgars said dryly. “It was apparently that facility that ‘rebuilt’ me.”
“And you, too?” Cally asked Shari.
“I got hit, bad, on the way out,” Shari replied.
“Needle round right through her spine and mid-section,” Wendy expanded. “Back to front. Very bloody.”
“I woke up in a purple chamber,” Shari continued. “Looking like this.” She gestured at her body.
“You look… good,” Cally said, starting to tear up again.
“What?”
“I was just thinking… how much Papa would like to see you like that,” Cally said, regaining her composure.
“Oh, he liked me well enough the other way,” Shari said with a shake of her head. “Amazingly enough.”
“I never got it,” Mueller said shaking his head in turn. “Oldest guy in the group and he gets the girl. Now there’s, what?, four women in this here cave and I’m the one doing the cooking!”
“Oh, shut up you old fogie,” Cally said with a laugh. “Where did you pick up these two parasites?” she asked Wendy.
“Near Coweta Hydrological,” she said with a laugh. “I’d just fallen in a river. There I was in a sopping wet shirt, trying to hold my weapon out of the water; I looked like a ‘Packed and Stacked’ girl. Which Mueller, of course, was happy to agree with.”
“We’d been tasked with reconnaissance of the Posleen movement,” Mosovich said. “But they moved faster than we could and the routes north got cut. I was thinking that if we could get some stuff from here we could follow the Tennessee Divide across North Georgia and find one of the other passes that was holding out, then maybe get some transportation back to friendly territory.”
“By the time we realized how hot the area was we were too close to go back,” Wendy continued, making a motion like a mushroom cloud. “And the kids needed stuff to keep them alive in the weather; it’s turning nasty out there.”
“Well, there’s plenty here,” Cally replied. “Food, blankets, even rucksacks. As well as ammo and demo, but no guns.”
“Guns we’ve got,” Mosovich said. “We’ve even got about as much ammo as we can reasonably carry. Food and snivel-gear we’re short on.”
“So are we going to move out of here?” Cally asked.
“We probably need to,” Jake replied with a nod. “There’s an ACS unit holding down the Gap, your dad’s by the way, but… I don’t know how long they can hold and even if they do hold I don’t see who there is to relieve them. There’s an infantry unit all the way up by Dillsboro and a shot-up SheVa gun up there. But nothing short of there.” He paused and shrugged his shoulders. “I think your dad’s unit’s not going to be much but a spoiling attack.”
Cally nodded her head in thought but then shook it. “Dad I refuse to worry about. He has been in more ‘impossible’ situations than any other person in the world, I think, and he always comes out alive. Nobody else in his unit might, but he does. I guess he could die there, but I wouldn’t bet… I was going to say I wouldn’t bet the farm but if anyone wants four hundred acres of radioactive wasteland…”
“Um, speaking of which,” Mueller said. “We’ve got AIDs. Do… You could talk to him if you want.”
“That’s an interesting idea,” Cally said. “But I don’t want to joggle his elbow.” Even in the concrete reinforced cave the slam of distant explosions could be more felt than heard. “Just… let him know that I’m alive.”
* * *
“Major O’Neal?”
Mike’s arm was actually getting tired. It was mostly supported by the armor, but just holding it over his head for this long was getting hard. And not only was power going down like a waterfall, even the ammunition supply was starting to take a hit. The teardrops rounds were tiny and, unlike the power packs, most of the resupply had survived. But the battle had already expended over sixty million rounds; suits had had to reload onboard ammunition at least once, in one case twice. But that didn’t mean the Posleen were running out of bodies.
“Yes,” he asked tiredly. “What horrible news or emergency is it now?”
“Not horrible at all, sir, more mixed. Cally O’Neal is alive. She is in contact with Sergeant Major Mosovich from Fleet Strike Long Range Recon and they and some other refugees are in a shelter near your father’s farm.”
“And Dad?” Mike asked, suspecting why the news was mixed.
“Your father is presumed dead, sir,” the AID said tonelessly.
Mike wrinkled his head at the tone and the wording. “Presumed?”
“Yes, sir, he was last seen in a bunker near the explosion of a lander.”
Again, that toneless reply. Mike had noted that AIDs got all toneless when he hit a security baulk, at which point they became non-communication devices with remarkable alacrity.
Mike thought about a couple of things he’d like to say but skipped them all. “How many able bodies at that shel
ter? And is there any ground transportation?” was what he asked.
“Five adults and no, everything was destroyed by the blast.”
“Hmm…” He looked at the power graph and shook his head. “Give me General Horner.”
* * *
“Jack, it’s Mike.”
The major and the general went back farther than either of them cared to remember, but the casual familiarity was a sign of insult, not respect; Mike O’Neal had not yet forgiven the general for sending him on what was looking more and more like a forlorn hope.
“Yes, Major?” Jack Horner was a tall spare, man with cold blue eyes that belied his apparent age. He keyed the AID to throw up a hologram of the battle around Rabun Gap and shook his head; the image showed a solid tide of red going out of sight.
“We’ve got a little problem,” Mike said.
“I can see that.”
“Oh, it’s not the Posleen, per se. After trying a few fancy tricks, they’re coming at us in the same old way and we’re stopping them in the same old way. We’re taking casualties, but mostly to weapons-systems. No, the problem is we’ve got about three hours’ worth of power left.”
“What?”
“I blame it on Gunny Thompson,” Mike said lightly.
It took Jack a moment to remember who Mike was talking about. Gunny Thompson had been on the design team for the ACS weapons system, along with a recently recalled web designer named Michael O’Neal and General Jack Horner.
“Why Gunny Thompson, who the last time I heard was on Barwhon?”
“Well,” Mike said with a sigh. “He wanted a ray gun and the best I could do with the technology that was offered was a grav-gun that shot fast enough it looked like a ray gun. The problem of course being that that meant it was a power-hog.”