by Jay Allan
They’d get a close look at that new weapon…far too close. Calloway set the ship’s AI to record and retransmit data until the last second. That would be Raptor’s final service, he was pretty sure of that. The ship was tactically ineffective; its weapons systems were all non-operational. All it could do now was share a view of its demise with comrades who might be able to use that information in some future battle.
“Ensign Carp, begin startup sequence for lifeboats Beta and Gamma.” Raptor had four small escape pods for use in abandoning ship, but only two were still operational. “Program for overload.” The ships had a capacity of 24, but he needed to get 33 people on each…everyone still alive on Raptor except himself.
Carp hesitated, turning briefly to look back at the captain. “Do it now, ensign.” Calloway’s voice was gentle, not the normal scolding he’d give an officer who dithered in executing one of his orders.
“Yes, sir.” Carp’s voice was tentative, but he turned toward the workstation and began entering the required program.
Calloway leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. The bridge, which had been quiet already, was utterly silent, save for the sound of Carp’s fingers tapping on his board. I can do this last duty alone, he thought…I can give my crew a chance to survive. How much of a chance he didn’t know. Even if they escaped detection, they’d be marooned in lifeboats behind enemy lines. But even a fleeting hope was better than none. A small smile crept across his face.
“Who the hell are these guys?” Lopez was a Marine veteran and one of the best men in the platoon, but he sounded scared…scared shitless.
“Cut the chatter, Lopez.” Sergeant Clarkson was scared too, but he was still managing to hide it. “It’s just another enemy. You getting picky all of a sudden?” Clarkson’s troops were dug in along a 200 meter frontage. Their left flank was set on the fringe of the Eastern Wing, and their right was covered by 3rd Platoon…Lieutenant Mitchell’s troops. Clarkson couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather have there than Eva Mitchell. She’d won her sergeant’s stripes fighting in Erik Cain’s brigade on the Lysandra Plateau during the final battle on Carson’s World. That was all anyone had to say about any Marine, even one who was retired now and serving in the militia.
“But sarge, they just keep coming!” Lopez was definitely losing it…otherwise he’d have never had the guts to keep talking after Clarkson told him to shut up. “I blasted off half of one, but he’s still up and shooting back.”
Clarkson didn’t answer, not right away. He was looking out over the field, watching the enemy troops move toward his lines. They were tough as hell, no question about that. The militia had good assault rifles, but they were next to useless against the enemy’s armor. The heavy SAWs were the only thing that really hurt them…but even those mostly ripped off bits and pieces. Lopez was right…they just kept coming no matter how much damage they took. Were they drugged, impervious to pain? Clarkson’s mind scrambled, trying to figure it out. He didn't think his people had taken out more than one or two completely.
He watched as a mortar barrage impacted all along the enemy frontage. The shot was perfectly aimed, and the entire line was engulfed in clouds of smoke and displaced earth. The enemy troops were thrown around and knocked to the ground, but Clarkson watched in stunned silence as every one of them got up and continued forward.
“That’s the toughest powered infantry I’ve ever seen.” He was muttering to himself, but the comlink was still open.
“You said it, sarge.” Lopez again, still sounding shaky.
“Never mind, Lopez. Just keep up your fire.” You careless asshole, Clarkson thought to himself, what the hell are you doing thinking out loud on an open comlink?
Suddenly he heard a scream, then another. His head snapped to the right to see most of 1st Squad staring down at the ground. Bragg and Cullen were dead. Their heads and a good chunk of their shoulders and chests were just gone. Enemy fire was still targeting the area, and the rest of the squad was crouched low, beneath the lip of the trench.
“Keep down…all of you.” Clarkson was talking to the entire platoon, not just 1st Squad. “The enemy fire is damned accurate. If you show it to them, they’re gonna blow it off. So pay attention.”
He looked back over at 1st Squad. They were still standing around stunned, crouching to keep their heads out of view of the enemy. “Pull it together, 1st Squad. Get that SAW going.” Bragg and Cullen had been the heavy weapon crew for the squad. “Keep up your fire.”
Clarkson wasn’t sure how much that fire really mattered. They’d taken down a couple enemy troops, that was true, but they weren’t getting nearly enough…and these guys didn’t seem to be fazed by losses. Whoever they were, they were fearless bordering on suicidal. Nothing seemed to slow their advance.
“Incoming!”
Clarkson was never sure who shouted the warning first, but he reacted immediately. “Everyone down…now!” He dove to the side, taking cover deep in the trench.
The first sound was faint…soft popping noises coming from above. Then the real explosions started. Small bombs were dropping all over the line, a significant number landing right in the trenches. The explosions were powerful…strong enough to collapse sections of entrenchment…not to mention obliterate any men and women unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity.
Clarkson was immediately on the com. His orders were clear…any new weapons or equipment were to be reported immediately. “Captain Krantz, Sergeant Clarkson here. Sir, we’ve just been hit by a bombardment from a new weapon system. It seems to be some type of cluster bomb. It’s ripping us apart in the trenches.”
“Very well, sergeant. Carry on.” Krantz sounded harried, distracted. Clarkson figured he was getting reports from all over the battlefield.
“Sergeant, 3rd platoon’s pulling back.” It was Corporal Nance, another Marine vet. He was keeping his cool, but Clarkson could hear the fear in his voice. “Lieutenant Mitchell’s dead, sir. They’ve got 60% losses.”
Shit, Clarkson thought. He’d been determined to hold the position, but with 3rd Platoon gone, his troops would be bracketed between the mountains and the enemy on the now-open right flank. “Ok, platoon, we’re pulling back by squads. Even squads, withdraw to the second line positions. Odds, maintain fire.”
Clarkson’s platoon withdrew in perfect order. He watched with pride as they executed the maneuver. It was a testament to his troops…and to him as well, though he didn’t think of it that way. Thank God Colonel Brown had us dig these lateral trenches, he thought. He couldn’t imagine any of them would have survived the murderous fire if they’d had to pull back in the open. He paused to take one last look before following his people. He heard the whistling sound again…another barrage of the cluster bombs. He dove, and his helmet came loose and clattered over the rocky floor of the trench. That’s when it hit him…a chunk of shattered rock. He felt an instant of pain and then there was nothing but blackness.
“That is an order, Ensign.” Calloway’s voice was stern, resolute. He’d decided what he was going to do and, by God, it was going to be done. “Launch now.”
Calloway was alone on the bridge. Every other live member of the crew was crowded into one of the two functional lifeboats. There were only 62 of them now – the destruction of the ship’s sickbay had made caring for the wounded difficult at best, and another four of Calloway’s people had died from their injuries…wounds they’d have easily survived if the required treatment facilities had been available.
“But sir, there’s no reason for you to stay behind. Come down now. We’ll wait for you.” Carp was distraught, his voice pleading with his doomed commander.
“I have a job to do, ensign. Are you going to make it harder on me with your insubordination?” He hated coming down hard on Carp. He really liked the kid. Maybe, he thought, Carp will actually get out of this and have a shot at a real future. Maybe. “Now follow my orders, Ensign Carp.”
“Yes, sir.” Carp’s voice was despondent…h
e was defeated. He didn’t have it in him to disobey Calloway’s orders. “Launching now, sir.”
Raptor shook as the magnetic catapult launched her last functional lifeboat. Calloway was now alone on board, and his last means of potential escape was gone. He was committed to his plan, but now he felt a wave of fear and uncertainty. It was one thing to face grave danger, but Calloway was past that now. His last, fleeting chance at survival was gone. He was a dead man living a few final moments of borrowed time.
He fought the urge to call Carp and order the lifeboat to come back. He knew that wasn’t an option…once launched, the escape craft didn’t have the capability to dock again. Still, he could feel the panic building inside him, and it took all his will to fight it. Finally, grimly, he forced back the fear. He had a job to do and, by God, he was going to do it.
“Raptor Control…” Riley’s voice was soft but steady. He had regained his composure. “…it’s just you and me now.”
“Yes, Captain Calloway. The lifeboats are safely away.” The AI’s voice was not entirely unemotional. It understood the situation, and it modified its audio output accordingly. “Now what would you like me to do?”
Calloway paused. He knew what he had planned, but that didn’t make it any easier to actually do it. He’d ordered the lifeboats to run silent, and that meant their only velocity was that of Raptor, modified by the force imparted by the launch catapults. Firing their thrusters would be like sending out a signal flare at this range, and their only hope for survival was to remain undetected. Calloway was going to give them the diversion they needed. He was going to give them a chance to survive.
“Prepare to exert full thrust. Calculate optimal vector toward enemy ship.” Raptor still had considerable velocity heading away from Adelaide. The thrust Calloway was planning would only modify that slightly, but it would put distance between Raptor and her lifeboats - the escape pods would continue on the original, unchanged vector.
“We have completed partial repairs to the engines, captain, however full thrust at this point would be extremely dangerous.”
Calloway smiled grimly. Things were way past caution now. “Yes, I understand. Please execute nonetheless.” He hesitated for a few seconds then added, “And please deactivate all reactor safety systems.”
“In our present condition, at 100% capacity, a reactor failure is a virtual certainty.” The AI modified its tone yet again, expressing extreme concern. “Without the failsafe systems operational, a thermonuclear explosion will be unavoidable.”
“Yes, my friend.” Calloway’s thoughts were drifting, but he remained steadfast. “That is exactly what I want.” The massive output of energy when Raptor exploded might…just might…provide the cover the lifeboats needed to remain undetected.
“Understood, captain.” A few seconds of silence, then: “All systems are prepared, Captain Calloway.” The AI would obey Calloway’s commands, but in its processing core it was experiencing unfamiliar sensations. Its voice was steady – it was not human, and its auditory systems were not connected directly to the status of its primary thought routines. The quasi-sentient AI units were not true beings, but they were more than just computers. The system’s loyalty to Calloway was absolute…it would do whatever he commanded and sacrifice itself in any way necessary for the mission or the preservation of the crew. But it did feel an urge for self-preservation. It was afraid.
Calloway looked around the battered wreckage of the Raptor’s bridge, now empty save for himself. His mind wandered down the corridors of the vessel, silent and abandoned. He thought about his parents back on Terra Nova, and he felt a wave of guilt when his imagined his mother reading the notice from the navy. He’d sent those letters too many times, to too many loved ones. It is with my deepest regret that I must inform you of the death of…
He looked out at the bridge one last time, though his eyes were not seeing the battered control center…they were lost in time, imagining things and people long gone. Finally, he took a deep breath. “Engage.”
Raptor’s reactor roared into full operation, feeding power directly to the straining, tortured engines. Calloway was pushed back into his chair as Raptor thrusted at nearly 8g. It was nowhere near the maximum normal output, but it was all she could coax from her savaged engines.
The Raptor’s captain lay in his chair, struggling to breath under the heavy pressure. Without the drugs and a properly functioning acceleration couch, 8g was a lot of pressure to withstand. He lay there in a dream, his thoughts drifting, imagining things he hadn’t thought of in years.
Raptor’s systems held for 93 seconds. It wasn’t long, but it was enough…enough to get her away from the lifeboats. When the containment vessel in the reactor finally blew, AS Raptor performed her final duty. For a few seconds she became a miniature sun, and with her destruction…and the death of her captain…she bought her crew a chance, however slim, of survival.
There was a white haze in front of Clarkson’s eyes. He was groggy, confused…and his head ached like someone had driven a spike through it. He tried to get up, but his legs wouldn’t move. He eased himself back down and took a deep breath. Slowly, steadily, the disorientation faded. The haziness pulled away, leaving only the late afternoon sun in the sky.
At first he couldn’t remember anything, but then he realized where he was. He reached around frantically, trying to find his rifle. He expected the enemy to be on him any second, but finally he realized he was alone. The trench had been virtually obliterated, and he was half-buried in the coarse brown Adelaide sand.
He tried to pull his legs free, but there was too much weight. He leaned over and started shoveling the dirt with his hands, and finally he managed to claw his way out. There were bodies lying half-buried all along the trench line…the bodies of his troops. He stumbled to his feet and looked around for survivors, but he didn’t find any. Then he remembered – his people had carried back their wounded when they retreated.
“Clarkson to platoon…Clarkson to platoon.” He spoke into the comlink, but all he could hear was static. “This is Sergeant Clarkson calling any Alliance personnel.” Still nothing. He wondered if his comlink was damaged…or if there was just no one left to answer.
He climbed up and looked out over the remains of the trench. The field the enemy had approached over was empty…all except for the bodies of the few attackers his troops had managed to take down. He climbed up and out of the trench, sliding back down a few times before he managed to get a foothold and hoist himself out. His head was pounding, but he ignored it. He had a quest now…he was going to see who this enemy was.
He walked across the field, stopping every few steps to scan the horizon. Nothing. He was alone. The ground all around the trench line was torn to shreds…mostly the work of the enemy’s cluster bomb weapon. Once he got out of the immediate area, the ground was in better shape, although there were craters all around where the militia’s mortars had impacted, largely ineffectively.
Clarkson stumbled across the pockmarked field. He was weak and his throat burned with thirst, but he pushed himself forward. His SAW teams had taken down several of the enemy troops about half a klick from the trench line, and he walked out in that direction. He could see them lying just ahead in the dusky light, their bodies shattered by the heavy weapons fire.
He looked down as he reached them, and he froze in stunned silence. Then he dropped to his knees, hands furiously grabbing at enemy body parts, examining them closely. No, he thought, not body parts…these aren’t soldiers at all – they’re robots.
“What the hell?” Clarkson was talking to himself as he continued pawing through the debris. “Who sent these…things…here?” Clarkson was no expert on robotics, but he knew that none of the Superpowers had ever managed to produce automated soldiers that could replace humans. The AIs the Marines used were useful tools, but in the end it was the men and women that mattered.
Naval ships were often controlled by their sophisticated computer systems, especiall
y when their crews were being crushed into semi-consciousness by the g forces experienced in battle. But even then, the strategies and overall guidance was in the hands of human officers.
On the ground, no robot constructed had ever been able to match the fluidity of movement and the effectiveness of human reflexes and instincts. A robot could be tougher or move faster, but one had never matched a well-trained human as a warrior. Until now.
Clarkson had seen these things in action. The way they moved, the smoothness of their maneuvers…they were the equal at least of trained human soldiers, and maybe better. And their equipment and technology was like nothing Clarkson had ever seen. He sat on the ground, surrounded by the wreckage of those few of the enemy warriors his troops had managed to take down. The sun was fading, but it was still hot, and his parched throat burned with thirst. His grimy, sweat-soaked body ached and his head was pounding. You’ve got to get up, he thought. You have to report this.
He struggled to his feet and turned to walk back toward the trench. He had no idea where to go – he didn’t know where the battle had progressed after the enemy had pierced the defensive line. Maybe everyone was dead already…maybe each tortured step he took was in vain. But he had to try.
He stopped and looked back one last time, remembering the sight of those monsters marching across the field toward his position. A shiver took him despite the heat, and he closed his eyes and wondered – how are we going to fight these things?
“I want that alignment checked again, lieutenant.” Captain Jacobs was tense. The refractor satellite had been Captain Calloway’s idea, and it was a brilliant one. Positioned with line of sight to both Adelaide and Hornet, it was really just a large lens, angling direct laser transmissions from the planet to Jacob’s concealed ship. Hornet was still running silent, hiding on the far side of Adelaide’s moon. The satellite itself ran on very little power, and it repositioned itself with small jets of compressed air that were almost undetectable to scanners.