Armored Warrior Panzerter: Eve of Battle

by T. E. Butcher

  To Kennedy’s shock and horror, Fletcher sat among a group of Tharcians, smiling and holding a sweater. As he sat there glowering, he looked up at Thorn. “How did they turn her over to their side?” he asked. “Fletcher was a dedicated Unionist.”

  “An oversight on the part of our doctrine,” Thorn said. “We didn’t incorporate counter-POW strategies for pilots in case they were captured, intelligence agents and staff officers? Yeah, line pilots? Not so much.” He took the photo back from Kennedy and set it inside the folder. “Rest assured, pilots still in training are receiving said training now.”

  “Do you have anything I can apply?” Kennedy asked. “Something helpful on the battlefield?” Thorn handed him the file folder.

  “As they say, information is ammunition,” he said. “Of course, the full capabilities of their armaments are detailed here as well, but you should really look into the notes on their histories, their personalities, their behavior.” He smiled ruefully. “That will inform your idea of how they do things and make them more predictable.”

  “Noted,” Kennedy said. “I assume you’re not doing this out of the goodness of your heart?” Thorn laughed.

  “Oh no, my heart is as black as they come,” he said. “As for my compensation, I only ask for a favor in the future, no matter how dirty or bleak.” Kennedy rubbed his chin. “Look comrade, I know how internal affairs go with other countries, let’s just say that if it looked like tubers place in it, all would suddenly change, I’m the kind of guy you want on your side.”

  “How do I know I’m not being played,” Kennedy asked. Thorn chuckled.

  “You don’t,” he replied. “But your social skills are advanced for a tuber.” He flashed another predatory grin. “Fine, I’ll clue you in to what I believe is happening.” He leaned in closer to Kennedy. “I think the upper echelons of the government are preparing to ditch the surface and move into space.”

  “Really?” Kennedy said. Thorn saluted as he headed for the door.

  “Take that information as you will,” he said. “But now I need to go.” And just like that, he was gone.

  Hausnerr leaned forward as he focused on the displays in the control room. “This was recovered from the Svalbard Cluster?” he asked. Joining him in the depths of the Citadel sat the Vinnish contingent led by the ambassador, along with his general staff. The ambassador nodded.

  “Yes,” she said. “We got this in a large data stream before losing contact.” On the screen, an internal monitor from a colony docking bay replaced footage of the air lock. The massive airlock, the entry point to the colony for various vessels to dock, suddenly depressurized and opened.

  A Union ship, long and angular, loomed into the bay, followed by another and then another. Hausnerr scowled. “That’s a violation of the Geneva convention,” he said. “How were they forcibly able to enter the airlock?”

  The ambassador held up a hand. The Union ship lowered a ramp, and it wasn’t until panzerters floated out of the hold carrying pods that he realized why that seemed odd. Modern space vessels had their decks arranged perpendicular to the engines to better simulate gravity under thrust, and except for carriers were fully designed around this. Carrier’s hanger doors opened along the front to allow panzerters to use the catapults and save fuel. These doors opened as if the panzerter’s had been staged on the ship ready to move into the colony.

  “It’s a landing ship,” he said. “Some kind of assault craft.” The panzerters, a different design from either the land based models or their space bourne counterparts, opened the pods and they saw marines stream out of the pods. A few cuts later and the panzerters exited the airlock. The colony defense force, typically kitted out to resit pirates at most, never stood a chance.

  Their weapons, the heaviest of which were some unarmored missile carriers, stood no chance against the panzerters. Lasers lit the vehicles in great balls of fire while the infantry easily routed the colony defense force. Once they’d secured the area, they began rounding up civilians before the feed cut out.

  “Our naval forces were left unable to respond,” the ambassador said. “Not with a colony in the cluster being held ransom, and as far as we can tell, our targeted embargos are having little effect.” She bit her lip. “In fact, they may end up being irrelevant in the long run.”

  Hausnerr raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” He asked. She nervously glanced over at the marshall as she fidgeted with her hands.

  “Our scientists were working on an extensive adaptation program for several of our domestic crops,” she said. “Enhanced nutritionally yield, greater survivability, less reliance on sunlight, mainly for our colonies.”

  “Let me guess,” Hausnerr said. “The Union got their hands on it?” She held up her hands in mock surrender.

  “It looked like it was just a string of accidents,” she said. “But our project head was taken by pirates, or so rethought, and now I believe they’re on the verge of circumventing the point of our embargo.”

  The Marshall shook his head. “I figured they may have food issues,” he said. “When you banned halted all exports of grain seeds and livestock to the Union before you banned raw materials.” He looked back at the screen. “I’ll have to confer with our Naval counterparts, they’re still in the process of appointing a replacement for the Late Admiral Von Braun, but we will have some kind of countermeasures soon or else we risk losing the colonies.”

  “What about a blockade?” One of the Vinnish asked. “Wouldn’t you be able to force them out of the colony?” Hausnerr shook his head.

  “We’re the wrong people to ask about that,” he said before glancing at his Naval liaison. “But Admiral Bernhard here would be able to give you an opinion.”

  The admiral also shook his head. “I’m not entirely up to date with the situation in our own system, let alone the belt and the Jovian system,” he said. “That being said, I still don’t think I would do that. The amount of support vessels, let alone capital ships, we’d need to devote to a bloackade would cede strategic initiative to the Union and Avalon.”

  “So there you have it,” Hausnerr said. “Don’t get me wrong, we’re all in on liberating the colonies the Union and Avalon have seized, does this hurt your presence on the surface at all?”

  The ambassador shrugged. “More or less,” she said. “We have a lot of agriculture in space, but we haven’t lost enough ground to endanger our people with starvation, yet.”

  “Our shipyards are already in full tilt,” Admiral Bernhard said. “It’s above my pay grade, but maybe we can send some destroyers and cruisers their way. We have some under construction on the surface.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Hausnerr said. “That’s a decision that needs the consent of the state department and your colleagues in orbit, but I do think it should be on the table considering our new allies.” He looked back at the ambassador. “How long until the official declaration of war?”

  “We want to land our expeditionary forces before officially joining the war,” she said. “Of course we’ll increase our denunciations of Union and Avalonian aggression, put on the whole show and fireworks before we formally announce we have no choice but war.” She gave the military men a wry smile. “Hopefully we alienate as many countries as possible from the Union and Avalon.”

  “That would be idle,” Hausnerr said. “Ideally, the First Nation either stays out of the conflict or sides with us, and the Earth nations don’t get involved at all.” It had been rumbling among the state department, and upper levels of the military, but Hausnerr had learned from the Secretary of state first hand. The Earth’s major powers were horrified that within twenty years a major war had broken out on Mars yet again.

  As much as they cloth their pearls, they’re nothing but a bunch of hypocrites. What are they going to do? Sanction us? Threaten us? Hell, they haven’t fought a real war in almost a hundred years. He shook his head, banishing the empty words from a world away. The less they interfere, the bette
r. The last thing we need is an uniformed third party trying to dictate a bad peace to us.

  24

  Ballard set the old book on Penny’s nightstand. “There’s your bedtime story,” he said. “Now go to bed, sweetie.” As he rose to leave, the little girl stirred.

  “Daddy,” she said. “Have you ever hurt real people?” Ballard hesitated as he got to the door. After a moment of thought, he shook his head.

  “Only bad guys,” he said. “Nobody that didn’t deserve it.”

  Penny only stirred more in her bed. “How do you know if someone deserves it or not?” Ballard felt his tongue swell in his mouth a bit as he struggled for words.

  “Well, when you’re in the army and your at war,” he said. “Everyone on the other side is trying to hurt you, that makes them bad guys.”

  “But are you trying to hurt them?” she asked.

  “Yes, because they’re bad guys,” he replied.

  Penny sat up in her small bed. “But if you’re on the other side, you’d be a bad guy because they’re there to hurt you too,” she said. She folded her arms as her faces screwed up in thought. “But you’re not a bad person, so does that mean that other people on the other side aren’t bad people?”

  Ballard nearly told her that of course they were bad people, but he hesitated. Too many of their soldiers are children. Hell that Mo character was basically a kid, same with Kozma. Can I really tell her they’re all evil even if I know damn well that’s a lie?

  “If you don’t go, are they still bad guys?” Penny asked. “What if nobody showed up? Would there be any bad guys?”

  Ballard shook his head. “No, I guess not,” he said.

  “Then why do you show up?” she asked. “If you don’t show up, it means less people will get hurt.” Ballard smiled sadly.

  “I have to go,” he said. “I was made to do this by the government, even if I didn’t want to, I’d have to, or they’d hurt me.”

  Penny pouted. “Well then, they sound like bad guys,” she said. “Why would they make you if you don’t want to?” the old pilot took a deep breath.

  I can’t explain to her they grew me in a tube specifically to do this. He slowly flexed his hands. They made me for this, yet I hate it, all the struggling for meaning the breeders do, and here I am hating the purpose and meaning they gave me. Am I just defective? Or is there something beyond our genetics and upbringing that makes us, us?

  He shook his head. “Sorry sweetie, I was just thinking about something,” he said. “I’ll explain it better when you’re older.”

  “But I’m smart,” she said. “All my tutors say so.”

  Ballard sighed. “It’s not an intelligence thing it’s a maturity thing,” he said. “I’ll explain it when you’re older now go to bed.”

  “Good night daddy,” she said sleepily as she laid down her head.

  “Good night, Penny,” he replied and shut the door behind him. He walked into their living area and collapsed on his couch. How long have they been using kids as soldiers? He looked at his hands. How many have I killed? How many fathers are mourning the loss of their own Penny?

  He sighed and sank into the cushions. I can’t blame Penny for thinking out loud, that’s what kids do, but I need to get her to keep quiet on the whole government are bad guy’s idea. That might get us both in trouble.

  “I wish I could say I was trying to guarantee a better future for you, kiddo,” he mused to himself. “But somehow I don’t see it, even if we do win.” What the hell am I saying? I should want nothing else but to win, damn it! He stood up into a sitting position. Increased reaction time. Enhanced musculature and bone structure. Numerous other alterations. They made me for this war. They made me to win it.

  He clenched his hands and looked at his fists. Then why is it that I don’t want to do anything other than live a peaceful life with my daughter. He buried his head in his hands once more, but answers never came.

  “I’m almost at a point where I won’t need the chair anymore,” Fletcher said. “Although I’d love to not have to do another PT session.” Zorro nodded in agreement.

  “I swear, I thought a prosthetic leg wouldn’t hurt at all,” she replied. “but the meaty part above it is another story.”

  Adamski sighed. “Try learning to walk on the damn things,” he said. “Trust me, value the legs you have.” He smiled as Fletcher produced a small box carefully, yet simply wrapped.

  “I couldn’t decide between a book and a bandanna,” she said. “So I got a ‘monster-on-the-loose’ book from the 99 cent pile and a Tharcian flag bandana.” She held up her hands. “Remarkably, I didn’t burst into flames when I picked it up.”

  Adamski took a closer look at her wrapping job. She’d chosen a simple brown paper and twine to wrap Reiter’s gifts. Every fold had been tucked with a clean precision, all right angles and straight lines. “You know, I’m a little skeptical you haven’t been doing this your whole life,” he said. His phone buzzed, and he looked down at the text. “Reiter will be here soon, he just got off.”

  Fletcher’s smile brightened when a nurse called her name. “Fletcher, Clarissa? Is she in here?” she called. The tuber twisted in her wheelchair to face the other woman.

  “I’m here,” she called out. “Is something wrong?” The nurse, a shorter woman with a large head of curly hair, shook her head.

  “Oh no,” she said. “Not really, they didn’t give you enough hormones for your tissue regeneration today, gotta get those buns nice and fertile, you know?” At first the nurse’s demeanor seemed to make her uncomfortable, but as the nurse produced a packet and added the vegetable green contents of a glass of water, Adamski started to feel it too.

  “Uh, excuse me nurse,” he said. “May I see the packet you’re holding?” The nurse frowned at his request.

  “It’s just a hormonal treatment,” she repeated. “It’s necessary to speed up the healing process.” Two things already didn’t mesh with Adamski. Number one was the nurse’s defensive posture, which he could attribute to patient-caregiver integrity. But all the nurses he knew would drop some kind of acronym or the chemical name of a drug they were giving someone. They usually got away with this because most people weren’t doctors or chemists, and thus those things meant nothing to them.

  “She’s already ahead of schedule,” Zorro said, seemingly picking up on Adamski’s discomfort. “Why would you try to rush it faster?”

  “That,” the nurse, her name tag said Amelia, said. “Is Nurse-patient privilege, and I’m not obligated to speak with you about it.” Her face suddenly clicked with why he recognized her. She’d been in the field hospital outside of Landfall and was present for the severing of his ruined legs. What’s an army field nurse doing in a civilian hospital?

  “Hey nurse,” he said. “Did you-” He spotted Reiter across the mess hall. His goofball Captain had apparently taken a page from Merlin and elected to wear his powder blues. He had a small gift wrapped under his arm. “Hold off on that drink, Fletch, Reiter’s here.”

  “The Black Knight?” Amelia said, and everything suddenly clicked with Adamski. If it weren’t for that visit from Mo and Steele, I wouldn’t have known the critical piece, but Reiter’s ace title is the Black Lion of Gallacia, I’d assume black knight was someone misremembering the title or adding their own. Were it not for Mo telling me that the Union specifically refer to the Lowe and Reiter as the Black Knight.

  “Uh, nurse,” he said. “How long have you been working here?”

  “Amelia,” Reiter said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, I got transferred,” she said. “They evacuated the hospital at Grunbeck, so now I’m here.” Reiter frowned.

  “I was just in a meeting with my counterparts,” he said. “The hospital’s still-”

  “I’m sorry,” she interrupted. “Ms. Fletcher needs to take her supplement.” At this point, people around them began paying attention, including the MP assigned to Fletcher. As he began approaching the group, he
noticed a pair of hospital security officers approaching from a different direction.

  “I’m not taking that,” Fletcher said. “There’s clearly something wrong here.”

  “Paranoia is a side effect of hormone imbalance,” Amelia replied. “You need this.”

  “Why would you lie to me about the hospital?” Reiter demanded. That’s probably the firmest I’ve ever heard him. Adamski quickly wheeled himself around to where the nurse and Reiter stood behind Fletcher. “Hey wait, what’s that smell? What did you put in there?”

  Amelia lunged forward, pushing Fletchers head back and thrusting the glass towards the tuber pilot. Several things happened at once. Reiter punched the glass, knocking it across the table and away from everyone. Fletcher thrust the woman away from her as Adamski lunged out of his chair and tackled her.

  She scratched and clawed at his head, but his lower than normal center of gravity made him much harder to grapple with. Before long, he had her hands behind her back. She writhed and struggled and screamed like a madwoman as the security personnel ran over.

  “What happened? The MP asked. He looked at Fletcher. “was it you?” Reiter swiped some spilled water and sniffed it.

  “I recognize this,” he said. “It’s a herb based painkiller, suitable only for someone in hospice.” He shot an icy glare at Amelia. “With her metabolism, it would have killed her. Why?”

  As the security guards hoisted her to her feet, she lunged at Fletcher and screamed. “Traitor!” Well, that confirms it, she’s a Union spy. While she was led away, Fletcher set her head in her hands.

  “I can’t go home,” she said. “Ever, it’s all gone.” Reiter set a hand on her shoulder awkwardly.

  “Hey, assuming we manage to win this,” he said. “Then I’m not opposed to you staying at my dad’s beach house. It may not be the homiest place, but it’s something.” He suddenly remembered the gift in his hand. “Oh, and Merry Christmas.”