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Chapter Four
Vasilov Prime - Lower Ward Military Court, Wharf District Three
It was eight in the morning and Tomi was finally sleeping in the back of a police transport that was taking him from the hospital straight to the courthouse. He'd been up for over twenty-four hours. In that time he'd worked a shift (legally), spent an evening drinking, and then ran a wildcat mining rig that led to a planetary incursion by the Kadan. Now his arm was in a sling, his shoulder felt like it was crushed with a hammer, and when he asked about a lawyer the answer was no.
He sat on a worn wooden bench five minutes later. The room was packed from front to back. A panel of judges heard each case, rendered a verdict, and then sent it to another judge who passed sentence. He watched, his mouth open, as the judges worked with mechanical form.
I'm screwed, Tomi thought. He scooted to the side every time a new man was judged.
Soon Tomi was a few men away and watched the proceedings. The judges spoke clearly, quickly, concisely and never once questioned the accused. They played video recorders for the record, procured audio for the record, and showed police camera footage. There were no witnesses called, no lawyers, no bullshit.
He looked at the men and women around him and searched for anyone else he knew. The room was packed and it was hard to tell, but he looked to be the only one. All processed, escaped, or dead, he thought.
"This is a joke!" A bearded man leapt up and bellowed at the judges. A bailiff clapped him on the shoulders and shoved him down.
Another man in the crowd hollered out, "Hurry up asshole!"
"What is this?" Tomi said.
A man next to him craned his head and spoke out of the side of his mouth. "First time?"
Tomi glanced at him and nodded.
"This is the guilty court, no trial necessary."
Guilty court? Tomi watched the next proceedings. The footage showed the crime, the judges pointed it out, and then the guilt was confirmed. Then that meant...
"But!"
"Yup." The man chuckled and shook his head. "Ain't no use fighting it, just go with the flow."
The man with the beard hobbled over to the sentencing judge, but Tomi couldn't hear what was said.
Soon enough Tomi sat before the three judges. His face was slack and his eyes afraid.
The first judge was the oldest, with streaks of gray in his coal black mustache and a scar on his cheek. The second was bald, clean shaven, and a touch on the plump side. The last had the face of a vulture with pock-marked cheeks.
"Tomi Morgan?" the first judge asked.
"Yes sir."
"Illegal gate activation, mineral theft, disturbing the peace, possession of an automatic weapon, and public drunkenness," the second judge said into his microphone.
The third keyed up the display and footage of the scene filed past.
The three judges watched and each nodded when the footage was complete.
"Objections?"
"No," the second and third judge said in unison.
The first judge clanged a steel ball on an iron platform. "Next!"
"But, but!" Tomi stammered.
"The sentencing judge will hear your comments," the third judge said.
They moved Tomi a dozen meters to the side and sat him directly in front of an elderly judge. The man was thin, almost gaunt. His face had a set of scars, Tomi recognized them as dueling scars. Only nobles dueled. Tomi felt extra nervous.
The elderly judge studied a digital tablet and looked up to Tomi. "A firefight?"
Tomi swallowed hard. "Yes sir."
"First offense, which gives me a bit of leniency young man. Had it been a second, we'd have you shot." He looked at Tomi with serious eyes. "Do you like to fight?" the man asked, in a sincere tone. He leaned closer and raised his eyebrows. "Well?"
Tomi wasn't sure how to answer. On one hand, the judge had seemed impressed about the firefight part, but what if it was a trick? Does he want to hear meekness? Tomi held his breath and thought hard. Then he saw the tiny clip on the corner of the judge's lapel, a regimental tag. Ahh, Tomi thought, a man who earned his nobility. "Only when it's called for, sir."
The old judge cracked a thin smile and nodded. "Penal battalion, two years. You just might find your calling in life, young man. I envy you, I really do."
Tomi was speechless. Penal battalion? "But, but, I have an exemption!"
"Oh yes, that trades and skills exemption was nullified the moment you broke the law."
Tomi couldn't believe it. That exemption had kept him from being conscripted. Now, though, good god, he was going to war.
The bailiff stood Tomi up and gave him a hefty nudge toward the exit.
"I really do envy you, young man. Ah, to be young again!" The old judge suddenly looked invigorated and gave Tomi a salute.
Tomi walked out of the courthouse in a state of disbelief.
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Chapter Five
VASCOM - 19th Army HQ, Colonial District
Colonel Clarke passed through the familiar halls but felt like an unfamiliar man. It had been a long time since he was inside of the Central Command HQ, since his appointment ten years before to the Sigg as an "advisor". General Davison had sent him on that mission, an effort to modernize the military. Unfortunately, a year later General Davison died on the tundra of Lishun Delta. But Clarke believed in the mission, and finished his tour.
He stopped on the first floor and spent a moment at the tomb of Stephan Vasilov. The simple stainless steel tomb was in stark contrast to the elaborate marble and carved stone arrayed around it. Clarke had seen the videos and watched the combat footage enough to know that a gaudy tomb was the last thing Stephan had wanted.
The original Vasilov had led forty million soldiers in the first major alien war. His armies, instead of returning to an Earth overburdened with refugees and population, were gifted three dozen star systems on the edge of known space. It was a bitter gift.
Stephan judged that only those who served should rule. A new nobility was created, a meritocracy that for a few generations functioned well. Then the nobility was made hereditary and things slid down hill. The nobles squabbled and fought and only a dozen planets were settled. But Stephan's edict that any man could become a noble through valor and duty still inspired men to greatness.
An hour later he sat down in an empty room and stared at the wooden paneling. The room was three stories underground and it was surely concrete behind the old wood. In front of him was a data tablet and a sheaf of paper. He tapped the paper idly, but without the same reverence that Lord Darcy had.
A private pushed a food cart in and snapped to attention when he saw Colonel Clarke. Clarke waved the young man in and watched as the youth laid out coffee, pastries, and a platter of smoked fish.
Colonel Benning stomped into the room. "Clarke? When did you get back?"
Clarke rose and shook Benning’s hand. "A week ago."
"Sigg finally wrap it up?"
"Yes, yes they did."
Benning grabbed a cup of coffee and sat across from Clarke. "Will they be...?"
Clarke shook his head and glanced down.
"Well shit," Benning said. He snapped up a pastry, wrapped it in a napkin, and tucked it into his jacket. "We're stuck right now. The Kadan are locked in tighter than a woodtick on a bull’s ass. They probe, we probe, neither one makes any headway. It's winter now, and damn is it cold."
"How many new positions do we have?"
Benning spoke through a mouthful of pastry. "None, we've reinforced the same ones."
No movement. Clarke closed his eyes and sighed. It was so different from the Sigg where holding positions were few and far between. "The Sigg don't maintain holding positions. Always assaulting, attacking, shifting, flanking."
A new Colonel walked into the room. "But they lack the manpower and artillery that we have."
Clarke turned, he didn't recognize the Colonel.
"This is Baron-Colonel L
ucian Devos," Benning said.
Clarke stood and offered a hand but Lucian proceeded to the far end of the table without acknowledging the hand.
Benning wrinkled his nose at Clarke and shrugged.
"You've been away a long time—yes, Colonel?" Lucian said.
"Yes, but it seems like nothing has changed."
Lucian tilted his head slightly and smiled at Clarke. It wasn't a pleasant smile, but a harsh line.
Before the two could continue, the staff streamed in. More Colonels, Under-Colonels, a pack of Majors, a few civilians and lastly General von Aster. The General was a wire thin man with only half a nose. He'd left the other half on Lishun Delta.
The room snapped up from their chairs and just as quickly were waved back down by von Aster. He snatched up a cup of coffee, plopped an oversized bagel onto a plate and sat down. The chatter in the room picked back up until von Aster neared the end of his breakfast.
"Morning," von Aster said, gulping her coffee. "Ops, how's it look?"
A plump-faced Colonel named Beaubien tapped a dataslate in front of him. "The stargate did a 250 millisecond open about an hour ago. We're still processing the data."
"LISCOM have priorities?" von Aster said.
"Negative, sir, a single infantry probe went out."
"Results?"
Beaubien studied the slate for a moment. "Single survivor out of a squad."
"Hmm," von Aster said. "Well, could have been worse. Useful?"
"We have some scans, Colonel Bray is still processing." Beaubien nodded to a man sitting across from him.
"Well?" von Aster said to Bray.
Bray cleared his throat. "They've added another layer of entrenchments. Concrete reinforced ceilings, maybe some pop-up emplacements."
"Anything unusual?" von Aster said.
"No sir," Bray said.
Clarke sat and watched the staff meeting progress. Not much had changed from when he'd sat in on these meetings years before. In fact, other than the gray hairs on his head, it could've been the exact same meeting. He studied the faces and saw some looked content, almost relaxed, while others seemed intense.
The meeting moved to logistics and then the topic settled firmly onto Colonel Clarke.
General von Aster spoke, "We have a new battalion commander, Colonel Cole Clarke, recently returned to us from advisory duties at the Sigg front."
All heads turned to Colonel Clarke. The Sigg front was still hot news, especially the news of the victory.
"He'll be taking command of our penal battalion," General von Aster added.
The staff was silent. Glances went between the Colonels in the room, the other battalion commanders.
Colonel Clarke sat and felt the eyes on him.
"General," Baron-Colonel Devos said loudly. "Those troops were promised to me for the spring offensive!"
Colonel Clarke looked across the table and saw Colonel Benning hiding a smirk behind a coffee cup.
"I believe Colonel Clarke is going to put them to some use Colonel," General von Aster replied. He looked down the length of the table at Baron-Colonel Devos. Devos seemed at a loss for words.
He stammered out and half-rose in his seat. "But they're prisoners!"
"Yes, Baron, and they're my troops," General von Aster said in a tone that declared the topic was done.
Devos glared at Colonel Clarke and sat down slowly. His fingers were tight, white, and his face a rosy shade.
"Colonel Devos, you'll release those troops to Colonel Clarke tomorrow. Understood?"
"Baron-Colonel, if you please, General," Devos said.
General von Aster tilted his head slightly and licked his lips, like a prize-fighter before a match. "Very well, Baron-Colonel."
Devos raised his chin and stared at Colonel Clarke.
"Dismissed," General von Aster barked. He remained sitting while the staff filed by. He raised a finger at Colonel Clarke as he passed and waited until Baron-Colonel Devos walked by. "Brief me on your plan and the Sigg front in my office, Colonel Clarke."
"Yes, sir," Colonel Clarke replied, and took a bit of satisfaction seeing Devos's face turn another shade of red.
The inside of the headquarters looked the same as when Colonel Clarke was assigned to the 8th Army before transferring to the Sigg Worlds. It was an orderly array of concrete walls and steel piping, all painted the same shade of olive drab and khaki brown. He walked through the corridors, past rooms bustling with activity, and past others that were quiet like cloisters. Finally he came to a steel riveted door with a soldier wielding a plastic stocked assault rifle. The Corporal snapped a salute and opened the door.
Colonel Clarke stepped past the Corporal and entered into a Spartan office. On one wall a single screen ran from ceiling to floor with organizational charts laid out. On another wall a live-map replayed the drone feeds from the previous twenty-four hours on Lishun Delta. It showed that even though the planets were eight light-years apart, the data still moved. The floor was, oddly enough, polished wood plank. The furniture was simple, cheap, with the hard edges so common in every military establishment since Caesar called the shots.
General von Aster emerged from a side room with his jacket slung over his shoulder. "Sit, Colonel," he said, with a hand beckoning to the couch. "I'm ordering breakfast. Hungry?"
"Yes sir, thank you." Colonel Clarke wasn't, but he knew better than to refuse a meal from a General.
Clarke hadn't known General von Aster but he knew the man’s reputation. The General was the only Army Commander without a noble title. Though he was plagued with an unlucky reputation and that, coupled with the lack of title, made him a black sheep among the other Generals. He also had a knack for tactics, though little opportunity to put it to much use.
"So tell me Colonel," General von Aster said after calling in the meal order. "What the hell are you going to do with a penal battalion?"
"May I?" Clarke said and motioned toward the screen.
General von Aster nodded and sat back with his arms crossed.
Clarke keyed up his dataslate and transferred a heap of data files. He broke them up into a tiled display and keyed up a picture. An armored vehicle filled the screen. It had low sloped armor plates and was shaped like an elongated rectangle, but instead of the tracks being low to the ground they ran almost to the top of the vehicle hull. A single cannon protruded from the top on a slender arm. A hatch was open on the rear and infantry was exiting the vehicle. The entire hull was scored with gunfire, shrapnel, and failed impacts.
General von Aster glanced at Clarke, but didn't say anything.
Next a video file popped up and a buffering icon flashed on the screen. Clarke glanced at von Aster to make sure he was watching. Then the video started.
The sky was a low gray with the ebbing light of either morning or evening. It was hard to tell. Digits flashed on the bottom and the viewpoint rose up a dozen meters off the ground. Then the armor came into view, hidden and tucked into a dozen positions. It blended in almost perfectly.
"Sigg drone?"
"Yes sir," Clarke replied.
General von Aster snorted and Clarke didn't know if it was a good sign, or bad.
The feed continued and the drone spun. The view drifted and the camera stabilized on a flat plain, hammered and smashed. There was nothing but tossed dirt, torn earth, and cracked anti-armor emplacements. There, a dozen kilometers away, artillery rounds exploded in the sky. An artillery defense system hammered every single incoming round.
"They're not going to cross that?" General von Aster mumbled and leaned forward.
The armor pounced out of the cover and just as quickly disappeared into the tortured landscape. The low vehicles careened into one shell crater, hunched on the edge, and leapfrogged across the landscape. Each was only above the crater edge for a split second before dropping down into the next. In a hundred meters they were coated with the same slimy mud as the no man’s land. With the exception of the motion, they were indistinguishable.
A few seconds later the Boben defenders opened fire.
Defensive positions returned fire on the advancing armor. Rounds impacted and sprays of mud and dirt rose into the air.
General von Aster shook his head. "The artillery is gonna get em..."
Colonel Clarke turned back to the screen and smiled.
The tanks seemed stuck, caught in a wall of defenders, when the drone shifted. It marked out a dozen emplacements and then each one disappeared in a explosion that expanded out and collapsed in.
Anti-aircraft fire studded into the air from the Boben fortress. White tailed rockets flared for a split second and kinetic batteries shattered the sky. But nothing fell to the ground.
The tanks roared out from the craters and surged ahead into the gap. Twenty seconds later the craters they'd inhabited exploded into a new landscape as the Boben artillery landed exactly where they weren't.
General von Aster watched intently with a little smile on his face. "Give me some narration here, Colonel. What the hell just happened?"
Colonel Clarke couldn't help but smile back. After watching Vasilov maneuvers for years, the Sigg strike seemed absolutely fantastic. He felt the same way when he'd started working with them and made it his duty to learn. "There's another wave behind this with anti-emplacement vehicles. They launch a single missile vertical and it slams straight down into the defensive position. Another layer behind that uses rotary-turbine gunships that can fire over hills and contours to strike the heavier targets."
"Hmm," General von Aster said.
Then the armor surged ahead again and continued the slog through the hellish landscape. A mine exploded under the front of one of the tanks. It lifted up and set down as a massive explosion ripped through the front. A drive wheel careened through the air just past the drone. The rear hatch popped open and a dozen men streamed out the back and took cover.
Two of the armored vehicles darted closer and took in the survivors. Smoke poured into the darkening sky. Raindrops plopped down and the drone struggled in the wind.
Someone knocked on the door and General von Aster shouted, "Not now!" His eyes never left the screen.
Steel Breach Page 3