Miranda's Demons

by Ian Miller

  "Not at all! Well, apart from one thing, and that's my fault."

  "What's that?"

  "I've found this young man, but –"

  "He's not a corporate?"

  "No! That's what's wonderful. He's an independent, and so was his father. I've checked his file. Oops," she said, looking at Natasha in embarrassment, "I shouldn't have said that."

  "You certainly should not," Natasha said sternly.

  "But in this case," Gaius added quickly, "nothing more will be said."

  "Then perhaps we were wrong in our view," the Defence Minister said, "but that is not enough. Suppose we trusted you –"

  "You can trust Commissioner Kotchetkova implicitly," Marisa said earnestly. "I absolutely know that."

  "Perhaps. But there's the rest of the Council, and they're half corporates. We could be totally compromised by them after joining."

  "Not if you get your terms right now," Natasha said calmly. "Believe me, this is the time to join, because I have total powers on Defence matters, and if I say your joining is a matter of Defence priority, I have autocratic power to approve the terms. As long as they are not outrageous, I will approve them."

  "You mean, you'll let us set the terms?" the Economics Minister said incredulously.

  "Provided they're reasonable."

  "And what reparations would you think are reasonable?"

  "Reparations?" Natasha asked with a smile.

  "Arising from the great interest payments default, the loans default, the –"

  "Forgive me, Gaius," she said, in an apologizing tone, then she turned back to the Brazilians, "but as far as I'm concerned, that's ancient history."

  "The corporates won't see it that way."

  "They may not have a lot of choice," Natasha said, "if all claims were waived in the terms of entry."

  "You'd do that?"

  "Why not?" Natasha smiled, "Provided you help us with the defence of the planet."

  "And what can we do?"

  "Two things. Both of these are of prime importance. The first one is to manufacture special weapons and equipment for us, assuming you have sufficient manufacturing capacity following the M'starn attacks."

  "Apart from the dams and the chemical industries," the Minister sighed wearily, "the damage was random. In Sao Paolo it was largely the apartment buildings and the upper layers of the transport system which was destroyed."

  "Then, as your first order, we wish you to manufacture these for us," Natasha said, and handed the Minister a set of plans, with some explanatory documentation.

  "What in God's name is this?" the Minister exclaimed, as he looked at the artist's conception of what the finished product should look like. "A three tailed sea horse with wheels? And why us? I would have thought the Federation could easily have made these?"

  "It's a jumping vehicle," Natasha smiled. "The wheels are stabilizers. Following that, you will manufacture these."

  "And they are?" came an equally bemused reply.

  "My favourite siege equipment," Gaius grinned. "They throw stones."

  "A little more sophisticated than anything you had, though," Natasha retorted. "They're rail guns. As to why you, we can assume there are spies in the Federation, and particularly in the corporations."

  "If you'd sell your grandmother, selling your planet is no great conceptual leap," the Minister said, shaking his head sadly. "You will have to do something about those corporations, or they'll process you."

  "We have an external enemy to deal with first," Natasha smiled, "but after that, there will be some stables to clean out."

  "Then divert a river," the Minister smiled. "You mentioned two items. The second?"

  "We wish you to train soldiers to operate the rail guns, and we also want you to leave us with the services of your daughter."

  "You haven't enough soldiers?" came the incredulous reply.

  "We need your soldiers for political reasons," Natasha replied, in a tone as reassuring as she could manage, "and also because they speak an otherwise incomprehensible version of Portuguese, which the alien enemy may not know. It will be valuable to have a slightly different language when sending signals in battle –"

  "Then I can help," the Minister smiled. "I can find a couple of companies that speak a rather strange Amazonian language."

  "Excellent," Natasha nodded. "There's an advantage also in having one group of soldiers with no communication with the rest."

  "Leaks?"

  "And misinformation. We can actually allow a view of the defence if what we show is only a part."

  "Please!" Marisa implored. "Unless you want to stay out forever, this is the time."

  The Economics Minister rose to his feet, and offered his hand to Natasha. "I never could resist Marisa," he commented wryly. "Of course, joining the Federation will have to be approved by the various Governments, but I think we an see our way through that. A commitment to a good clean-out on your part will make the decision much easier."

  "I am pleased," Natasha said, and took his hand.

  "Well done," Gaius commented later. "Perhaps things haven't changed that much since my time. I think even the great Augustus would have approved."

  Chapter 5

  There were times when Misako was surprised. The enemy must have ascertained that their base was located somewhere in the Valles Marineris for the settler's spies had spotted a tank squadron heading for the North side. Despite the fact they were on the wrong side, and essentially harmless, McDonald had decided to make a stand on the thirty-kilometer wide "bottleneck" stretch of tableland between the Gangis Chasma and the Capri Chasma. To the East the land spread out, eventually to become the vast broken terrain of the Margaritifer Sinus, while to the West was the two hundred and fifty kilometer wide Aurorae Planum. There was this one stretch of tableland that was nearly seventy kilometers long and thirty kilometers wide through which the enemy could be expected to pass. None of this was surprising; the surprise had come from Karl Groza. He had volunteered to take a scout car out to the Capri Chasma, and on a prearranged signal, to drive furiously down, towing a sequence of great flails, which would raise an enormous amount of dust. The idea was simple. The enemy would have to watch the Valles Marineris to ensure there was no flanking attack, and when they saw the dust they would have to think an armoured column was heading down the valley. They would then head to the valley wall to ambush the column. This would give the settler tank squadron the chance to launch a surprise attack with an advantage of terrain. Captain McDonald had personally taken charge of the main tank squadron, which left Misako in charge of the home base.

  Her lack of military experience was not the liability she had feared. In fact, at this stage, there was only one decision to make, namely when to launch the aircraft. This decision could be left in the hands of Squadron Leader Winters, who, Misako noted, was not much older than she was. It would not be an easy decision for the enemy had anticipated aircraft. Many of the enemy tanks appeared to have anti-aircraft missile launchers attached to their rear. This was a new development, but according to this young pilot there was a fundamental weakness. The launchers, being an add-on, were external to the tanks, which meant that they had to be operated from the outside. The air power, therefore, had to be committed when the battle was joined. Air power could crush the tanks, tanks could crush the infantry, but only the infantry could prevent the tanks destroying the aircraft.

  All of which raised an uncomfortable question: why would the enemy suddenly add on anti-aircraft weapons when there were no suitable aircraft on Mars. They would not have noticed the arrival of the 'bats', and even if they had, they would not have had time to install counter-weapons. The only possible explanation was that there was a traitor on Earth, at a very high level. Her concern on that matter had been relayed to Earth, but there had been no response and it was far from clear that anyone had believed her.

  Her mind wandered a little; Haruhiko was out on the Martian wastes. His role was, perhaps, one of the more dangerous,
as he was leading a small infantry unit. Each soldier had a rather cumbersome weapon, in part a traditional rifle modified so as to be able to be used with pressure suits, and in part a grenade launcher. Strange grenades they were called, and strange they looked. First, most of the grenade was taken up by the odd looking coils around it. The lifetime of the grenades was so small too. Once out of the special bulk storage they had a lifetime no longer than thirty-six hours; after that the liquid helium coolant would be lost and the containment system could no longer sustain the fields required to hold the strange matter within. So all grenades had to be fired. The grenades were also only just stable anyway; they had to be handled with care.

  "More stable than nitroglycerine," the Terran officer had joked, but he had handled the grenades as if they were eggs. This must be one of the few wars, Misako mused, where the soldiers had to act as if they were carrying eggs into combat, and then there was the additional warning, "Of course, this stuff makes nitroglycerine look like a child's firecracker."

  * * *

  McDonald had deployed half his tanks behind rises where they could not be seen, and had placed infantry scouts on key hillocks. Apart from a green disc painted on their roofs, all tanks were painted red/ yellow- brown, with irregular patterns, and he was surprised to note how effective the camouflage was. He knew where the tanks were, but he would never find them if he did not know.

  McDonald had his own tank near the top of a rise and he was scanning the terrain with his long-range viewer. There, in the distance, was the cloud of dust raised by the advancing enemy. The enemy, by advancing on the southern side of the tableland, to keep an eye on the Capri Chasma, were doing what was anticipated. In terms of tanks, he was grossly outnumbered, but the enemy were doing the one thing that would give him an advantage. He signalled to Groza.

  Nothing seemed to happen, except the enemy came closer. Then, as he had hoped, the forward scout patrolling the edges of the chasm noted the dust storm heading down the chasm. Through the viewer, McDonald saw the tanks slow, then gradually peel off towards the edge. With a sinking feeling welling within, McDonald suddenly recognized the weakness of his strategy. There was nothing in the terrain to focus the enemy at an appropriate point, and they had spread themselves quite thinly along the edge, so as to give themselves the maximum time to destroy whatever was going down the valley. He had not anticipated this.

  Worse still, he had signalled too soon, and the nearest tank was over two kilometers away. He had to hope that he could cover most of those two kilometers without being seen, and if he could, he could most certainly attack a point with a concentrated force that would greatly outnumber whatever was there. That would end the surprise, so he had to make as much impact as he could before the remainder of the enemy could regroup. He had so needed to surprise a larger number of them. Still, what was done was done, and there was nothing for it but to attack.

  A trough ran parallel to the chasm and McDonald led his small group of five tanks into it, to drive quickly to the east. As the tanks vibrated along the floor of the trough, McDonald opened the hatch and looked back. Red dust swirled up behind each tank to fill the trough, but it was falling back towards the ground. As he slid back into the tank, McDonald sighed with relief, for this dust was quite coarse; although the air pressure was so low on Mars that the average Earth dust would settle rapidly, the extraordinarily fine dust found in many places on Mars could hang around for hours. After almost three kilometers of shaking, he ordered the tanks out of the trough to turn south. The slope was quite gentle at this point, and as they crawled and slithered their way up out of the trough, their wheels gouging into the brittle sandblasted stone. There, immediately before them, troops from the enemy tanks were furiously digging holes around the front of their tanks. At first McDonald was puzzled, but then he realized what was happening. Far from being the stupid plan that would bring that thoroughly detestable Groza his redemption as a sacrifice, Groza was relatively safe as the enemy could not lower their weapons sufficiently to fire on him. With the enemy tanks perched precariously on the edge of the chasm, McDonald launched his attack.

  The five tanks spread out into line abreast, and drove straight towards the unprotected rear of the three nearest tanks. The scene seemed almost ridiculous. As the enemy loomed closer, the figures peering over the edge of the chasm became more distinct. Comfortably cocooned within their pressure suits they could hear nothing, and they could see only what was before them. Pieces on a board game, waiting to be moved. At six hundred meters range McDonald ordered the tanks to stop, the cannon were lowered, and still they had not been spotted. McDonald signalled and the cannon began firing. The gunners were enthusiastic but not very accurate. Through the flurry of dust, the enemy soldiers finally turned to see where their real enemy was. Then some of the weaponry began to strike. One of the enemy tank drivers panicked, forgot where he was, and drove forward. The shells peppered the ground around the other two, then inevitably there were random strikes. First one, then the other, sustained direct hits to their turrets. McDonald watched the flashes in fascination, and then, as if in slow motion the tank would turn, its turret would twist in some way quite unintended in the design, and the tank would stall helplessly against some rocks. McDonald, alone in his tank, realized what had happened. He visualized the shells striking, the shower of metal splinters flying from the inside walls, showering the pressure suits, the hisses of escaping air, the crew holding their head in a futile attempt to stop the excruciating pain, the bloating and bleeding, and the final release. All of which could just as easily happen to him. McDonald then ordered his tanks to advance towards the East.

  As Haruhiko's men watched McDonald's tank attack, a feeling of elation surged through them. Two men stood up on a ridge to watch, and they raised their hands in triumph as the first tank toppled over the edge. As Haruhiko noticed this he became very angry; the men were not trained soldiers, but even so he had hoped for better discipline. Keeping low, he clambered up behind them and as he pulled them back he gesticulated furiously. Somewhat sheepishly, the men fell into line. Haruhiko was a little angry. His men were decidedly inexperienced, and they thought this was a game. The problem was, half the time they saw themselves as spectators.

  McDonald's attack had left two tanks isolated to the west and Haruhiko ordered his men to approach them. The line of pressure suits bounded around the back of a small hill, then Haruhiko ordered them to climb line abreast up the hill. The side of the hill proved unusually friable, even for Mars, and there was considerable slithering as the twelve men made their ascent. But for the weak gravity, Haruhiko knew they would not have made it, but even weak gravity was little use when there were no firm footholds. He signalled furiously for the men to pull with their hands as well. There was a reluctance to use hands, because of the fear of tearing the pressure suits, but eventually the men were partly shamed by the rate at which Haruhiko showed they could climb, and they followed. Haruhiko was pleased with himself; he had taken a calculated risk going forward alone. They reached the top of the hill and peered over.

  The element of surprise was now gone, and the remaining tanks had pulled back from the edge of the chasm. The two tanks at the western end had wheeled around to attack the most westerly of McDonald's tanks, but in doing so, they had come within one hundred meters from the ridge on which Haruhiko's men were perched. Haruhiko selected the five men he considered to be the best shots, and ordered them to load their first grenades. There was more excitement, and one man, finding his grenade caught in his webbing, tried to pull it free. Haruhiko stepped forward, and wrenched the man's hand away. He waved his fist furiously at the man and gesticulated the care required. With a rather sheepish look behind the visor, the man began to take the appropriate care and finally loaded his grenade. Haruhiko ordered the men to aim, then fire. Five grenades were launched, and three hit, two hitting the same tank, which was lifted up and thrown onto its side amidst great clouds of reddish dust thrown up by the gas venting from a b
reak in the armour. At first it seemed nothing much had happened to the remaining tank as it kept driving, but it was soon clear it was no longer effective; it slid down into a trough, then continued down the slope eventually to tumble over the cliff to the chasm below.

  Again the men seemed elated, and this time Haruhiko let them have their little victory dance before he pulled them back into line. To the east, their enemy had now withdrawn from the chasm edge and they were regrouping into a more conventional tank formation. The remaining five tanks had emerged and were vigorously pursuing three retreating enemy tanks. They had caught up with one, had easily destroyed it, and they were now in hot pursuit of the remaining two. But the central enemy tanks had now regrouped and had cut in to the north. McDonald saw the danger and called off the pursuit. Three tanks obeyed and pulled back, but the remaining two had no intention of giving up the easy target in front of them. Then, from a ridge to their north, eight enemy tanks appeared over the ridge and caught the two in a withering fire. Clouds of dust erupted around them; one shuddered twice and halted, its left side torn open, while the other lurched to the right, and began climbing a small bank. There were two brilliant flashes at its rear and another on its left rear wheels. The tank slithered, overturned, then tumbled back down in a dreadful slow motion of incandescence before its buckled glowing body became buried in the dust.

  Haruhiko looked down from his hillock across the vast plain and shook his head. All before him was utter confusion. A great pall of dust was drifting eastwards and small plumes of dust were rising randomly across the plain. He had read of the noise of battle, but this battle was totally silent. There were occasional flashes of light, there was the odd group of vehicles speeding in various directions delineated by the lines of dust, and the odd squad of men could be seen through the dust, but apart from that, nothing but the red dust. There was a complete absence of command and control, at least on their side. Then he realized the only solution to the overall confusion was that each squad had to find its own target and deal with that particular enemy. In the distance he could see a small group of enemy tanks that had sped west. They were his next target, and he signalled his intended movement.