by Will Crudge
“This is 1-1 Actual,” Estrada replied. 1-1 meaning, 1st Brigade, 1st Battalion Acting Commander. “Good copy, First Sergeant. Standing by for initial report.”
“1-1 Actual, this is Charlie 1-1 Actual, ETA on initial report… 2 Mikes.” The response from the First Sergeant was clear. Estrada knew that the initial report from the scan should be transmitted within 2 minutes.
“Anything on scan, Petty Officer?” Master Chief Olaf said, as he took his eyes off of his holographic display and looked over at Wilkin’s workstation.
“All quiet, Master Chief!” The Petty Officer replied. He would have turned his head to make eye contact with the Acting Commodore, but he was now in full armor. The entire ship had been set to general quarters, which meant all crew had to be prepared for full-blown combat at any given time. Any personnel whose duties didn’t prohibit the use of light to medium power armor, was required to suit up and don at least one projectile or energy weapon. Each position on the ship had a predesignated combat loadout, and for non-marines or non-infantry, that normally meant a minimum of a sidearm.
Master Chief Olaf just nodded, and shifted his eyes back to his display. He and Sergeant Major Estrada had already considered every possible scenario that they could muster. Both men were beyond frustration at this point. With their AI’s in containment, they were limited on their ability to calculate strategic options, and develop courses of action that would enable them to respond to any given threat. Neither of them knew if the Crimson forces would be bold enough to follow them into the box, or if the subverted UAHC vessels would come and finish them off first. Either way, they would not comply with the farcical orders they had received. Unless Fleet HQ were to be cleansed, then they small, poorly armed, and out-numbered squadron would be decimated.
Both of the senior UAHC veterans doubted that the Crimson forces would jump into the box. Not only would that increase the likelihood that the peace time protocols were to be lifted, and give the spread out UAHC forces a fighting chance at gaining the initiative, but the disposition of the Crimson forces were curious. Without the aid of advanced analysis from their AI’s, they had to piece together the purpose and organization of the enemy that they had encountered. By counting the numbers and hull types of the Crimson vessels, it was likely that they were simply an advanced force, and not a main fleet. Known Crimson combat doctrine call for a scouting force of light to medium cruisers that had enough speed and firepower to fend for themselves in deep space. These cruisers would likely engage anything that could potentially detect their parent forces. The screen of scouting cruisers would be followed by small long-range vessels that had advanced deep-space sensors. This would provide a relay of communications between the scouting cruisers, and the advanced body behind them. The advanced body would be comprised of several squadrons of heavier cruisers, medium cruisers, and a myriad of destroyers and frigates. The advanced body would serve to draw in enemy forces to counter them in a pitched battle. They would have enough firepower for a large scale engagement, but have the ease of maneuver of a smaller force. Once an enemy was drawn in to a fixed battle, then their size and disposition would be revealed to the smaller relay vessels, and the main body of heavy cruisers and dreadnaughts could emerge for an envelopment maneuver, while the advanced body would fall back to protect the flanks of the main force.
Every shred of data that they could muster, pointed to an advance body of a much larger force. Using simple math the bridge crew supposed that, given the hull types and ratios of the force they had faced, indicated that the main body was at full fleet strength.
There wasn’t a single force larger than their out-gunned and under-manned UAHC squadron for light years in any direction. The Alpha Site may boast one or two fully armed battle groups, but even that wouldn’t be enough to fend off a Crimson advanced body. Crimson tech was certainly inferior, and it was widely know they had little trust for AI use in most of their vessels, but that didn’t matter in this situation.
“Data burst from scan team… putting it on main screen!” Wilkins shouted. Olaf and Estrada both shot their eyes at the main display.
“Well, well…” The Acting Commodore smiled. He then casually reclined back in his seat, and raised his arms up. He placed his hands behind his head. “Boys… how soon can we rig this bucket into dreadnaught mode?”
***
“Shadow, why is Darius being so… silly?” Sam asked, not caring who heard it. “It’s not like him to be so goofy during combat.”
“It’s because his adrenaline levels have hit a specific threshold.” Shadow replied. “His mind, with my help, is merging its capabilities with Val. This means that they’re less separate in their personalities. Val is lending his irreverence to Darius’ tactical mind-set. Nothing to worry about, my dear.”
“Well, that’s not disturbing at all.” Sam said, with a hefty dose of dismissive sarcasm. “How will this… help anything?”
“It will help to calm Darius’ mind and let him tap into his abilities without having to be trained…. You, of all people… err AI’s, should know that the neural interface, that all Soldiers have, enables Darius to master a skill and lock it into his neural pathways as if it were permanently mastered. By melding their minds, Val is unlocking the neural pathways that Darius will need in the future.” Shadow explained, with an empathetic tone.
“So, Val is training Darius in real combat?” Sam asked.
“Yes. The neural interface allows Soldiers to train if infantry tactics, fighter pilot skills, operational skills, logistics, communications, etc.… and master each skill permanently.”
“Yes, I know this.” Sam acknowledged. “It’s why Soldiers can revert to skills they’d mastered decades prior, without ever losing any muscle memory or mental degradation. Every skill they manage to master, will always be locked in their neural pathways, as if they learned it yesterday… but what does that have to do with what’s going on right now?”
“Simple.” Shadow yawned. “It was imperative that Darius became a Soldier from birth… His genetic gifts are on par with Val’s, but with two key advantages… First being, that Darius’ genes matured over time, but without any artificial help. Not even the famous War Master Kaylen, had a more complete genome, and certainly not without a few tweaks to help it develop. Secondly, Darius was the first of our kind that had the ability to accept a neural interface. That’s key.”
“Now it makes sense!” Sam let out a digital clapping sound, as if she finally figured it out. “So, basically Darius had no need to spend an entire century to master his craft like a War Master has to… because the neural interface enables him to master any skill his neural pathways can develop… So, Val is lending Darius the neural pathways needed, so Darius can use his gifts immediately…. How am I doing?”
“Perfectly!” Shadow said with a feline smile. “Darius’ parents were both War Masters, but when they were killed…” Shadow stopped himself.
“Yeah, I know. Now’s not the time to air dirty laundry.” Sam acknowledged why Shadow decided to stop speaking. “I can fill in the blanks now.”
“Right, sorry.” Shadow frowned. “Just because we can merge our brain-power to boost our decision making, and anticipate each other’s intentions, doesn’t mean we can read each other’s minds… At least not exactly.”
“No need to explain…” Sam sent a digital smile to Shadow’s mind. She gave up trying to figure out how he and Val could even read them without a neural interface of their own. “Let’s let these two… super-beings… do some drone-killing.”
Location: Open Space, 5 Light Minutes Mars-side of Earth
Date Time: Post Interstellar 07/30/4201 Time Unknown
System: Sol System
“We’re only seconds away from cutting into their formation life a knife.” Darius noted. The two super fighters had not changed their vectors or velocities in several minutes…. And neither had the incoming drones.
“Tactical analysis?” Val asked, as if he wasn’t
melded into Darius’ thought processes. Val still liked to vocalize the engagement to keep the two NAV’s, Sam, and Shadow in the loop… but the big cat was melded into the mix, by extension of his pairing with Darius.
“These drones are too far out to be directly controlled by either humans or AI’s.” Darius spoke as if to share in the vocalization.
“Yes. So, why don’t we enlighten everybody of our game-plan then?” Val prodded.
“These drones are going to revert to their core tactical processes, and engage autonomously. That means they’ll use standard doctrine, and lack imagination. All we have to do is put make them respond to us by knowing how they’ll react to our maneuvers.”
“So, what are they going to expect us to do?” Sam asked. This time she was much more confident in Darius’ disposition, and had a strong notion that he and Val were in total control. Not to mention, Doom and Kindle have proven to be able to autonomously take action with perfect precision.
“Excellent question, my dear.” Val answered, cheerful as ever. “The drones are trying to get us to brake off our current vector, by performing a head-butt maneuver. That means they’re coming straight for us… They’re programmed to anticipate that we’ll give way, since we will likely realize that drones don’t care about self-preservation.”
“Which means, we’ll have to sacrifice our greatest advantage… being the advantage of pure speed. They’re not nearly as fast as an LRF-90, so they’ll likely force us to sacrifice velocity to avoid a collision.” Darius added.
“Makes sense, actually.” Sam spoke in a tone of approval. “So, what do they hope to gain? They’re probably at full burn, so they have no hope to wheel back and get within weapons range before we correct our vector and accelerate.”
“Which is precisely why they’re not alone.” Val added.
“So, they are just trying to get us to lose velocity at a predetermined spot in open space? But we’re close enough to their supposed kill box for us not to detect the other fighters.” Sam pointed out.
“That’s because they dropped stationary proximity mines in every vector that they predict we’ll take to evade them…. And likely they’ll have some pre-positioned missiles waiting for us as well.” Darius spoke as it were a certainty.
“So, what in the hell are we going to do?” Sam asked, but this time she was more curious than concerned.
“We’re going to do something they can’t possibly predict.” Val asserted. “Darius?”
“Yes, Val?” Darius answered up.
“In your training, have you ever encounter specs on LRF-90’s?” Val asked as if it were rhetorical.
“Negative. According to what you’ve told me, no military force has been legally able to operate an LRF-90 in more than a millennia.” Darius answered.
“Correct. Which is why the drones have no idea that our shields and hulls are quite capable of doing what we’re about to do…” Val sent a digital smile to Darius’ HUD.
“Which is what, exactly?” Sam asked.
“Watch.” Darius said, then launched the throttle forward with a single jerk. Sam was shocked that Val seemed to throttle up at precisely the same time.
“Forward shields at max… opening weapons bay… firing solution still valid, and showing green.” Doom chimed in, as if he knew exactly what was about to happen.
“Copy that.” Darius acknowledge. Suddenly there was a thump, and the view from the canopy went dark. Sam instantly realized that a metallic ballistic shield had been deployed over the canopy. She could read the molecular make-up of the shield, and it matched the general makeup of the rest of the hull.
A few seconds later there was a whining noise erupting from the floorboards. Sam read the energy signal, and it matched the signature of the twin particle beam cannons charging to max capacity. This would allow enough burn time for strafing several smaller targets, or to burn right through one very large target. She had extensive experience with weapon systems on a variety of warships, so she knew what carnage was about to take place.
“Engagement window on HUD, Marshal!” Doom spoke. “Happy hunting!”
A split second later, Darius eased the stick slightly, and depressed the main trigger. Sam could see the red icons that represented the drones begin to flare and vanish into tiny sensor tracks of debris. Then she noticed there was no significant change in vector… There was no longer time to maneuver… even with the inertial dampening system at full charge, there would be no time to change vector at their current velocity.
“We’re going to hit the…” Sam couldn’t finish her sentence… Sounds of the shield generator warning indicators enveloped the small cockpit… flashing red collision indicators light up the enclosed space…. They had flown right through the drone formation.
“Damage report, Doom!” Darius calmly, but firmly asked.
“Zero hull damage… shield generators at 80% and rising… particle beam cannon in cooldown.” Doom answered instantly.
“You crazy, bastards!” Sam gave out a digital sigh. “You crazy, glorious, insane bastards!”
“Thank you, dear.” Val responded. “The rest of that squadron was likely out of scanner range, and was planning on sweeping in casually to mop us up.”
“Right. That’s standard defensive procedure for drone defense, when they’re operating with autonomy.” Darius added.
“So, that means?” Sam asked.
“So, that means that by the time we’ve initiated our DECEL maneuver and made into Earth’s upper atmosphere, they won’t have time to respond.” Val answered.
“Now, we just have to worry about the other drone squadrons…” Darius said. “They’ve learned they can’t stop us in open space, so they’ll try and engage us in atmospheric flight… and at full strength. That mitigates our speed advantage quite bit.”
“Too bad for them!” Val chuckled.
“Ok, I’ll bite!” Darius jibbed.
“I’ve sent a care package ahead of us!” Val sent a digital smile icon to Darius’ HUD. “Have I ever told you about the LRF-90A variant?”
The Grinch that Stole an Empire
Location: Earth, UAHC Headquarters, CIC
Date Time: Post Interstellar 07/31/4201 1345 UAHC Standard Zulu Time
System: Sol System
Those meddling morons! I’ll end them! This is my time. My reward for endless years of service. I’ll not let some failed Soldier take my position… not when I’ve brokered peace before war even starts. I’ve got too much riding on this.
Acting Fleet Marshal Morgan was a slight man for a Soldier. His years of service had turned his natural black hair to turn streaks of grey. At over 120 years old, he would either have to accept retirement from the UAHC Fleet, or live out his remaining decades as a puppet to an ever decadent civilian government. He’d often considered what he could accomplish if his position wasn’t so restricted. He remembered when he was first approached by the Crimson agent that offered him something he couldn’t refuse… power.
The man paced up and down the workstations that dotted the front of the CIC. He stopped to look out of the expansive window in front of him. Morgan folded his arms and stared out into the world beyond the facility. His eyes scanned along the landing tarmac that extended out directly from the Fleet HQ building, and then out to the flat green expanse of grass that lay beyond. The facility seemed like a small mountain that rose from the largely featureless landscape. At one time, this land would have been considered the Mid-West region of the former terrestrial nation once called the United States of America. Morgan always wondered why the Fleet had chosen this region for their center of government. By design, there would be no sprawling city that surrounded the centralized seat of power. After the last war, the UAHC had learned their lesson regarding the co-location of strategic locations with civilian population centers. The War of Humanity was a protracted, and devastating slug-fest that saw hundreds of millions of civilians meet their demise.
Acting Fleet Master Morgan thoug
ht that if he could avoid the loss of human life in the next war, then he would rather take action and bring it about with minimal collateral damage. At least, that’s what he told himself. The truth was that he felt marginalized to being nothing more than a figure head. Being the senior military leader of the most powerful human civilization in history should have given him more latitude. He felt the pressure of crushing restrictions and civilian laws that made him felt as if his beloved UAHC Fleet were merely untrustworthy children in the eyes of the dominant civil government. He wanted more power. He deserved more power… and the Crimson Alliance would make sure he got what he wanted… with minimal bloodshed. He always felt that he’d rather see his own civilization fall at the hands of the Crimson Alliance, than to watch the downward spiral of spineless politics, self-centered culture, and the proliferation of gross materialism continue to spin out of control.
All he had to do was hold on to his mantle of responsibility a little longer. Lilly, the Command Chief Warrant Officer over all UAHC AI’s, had informed him about his impending replacement. In order for his – and the Crimson Alliance’s – plan to work, then the time tables would have to accelerate. He knew that this was a likelihood. No rational intelligence would spend nearly two centuries of meticulous planning, without multiple layers of contingencies, or alternative courses of action. Every possible scenario had been addressed. He knew that the Crimson forces would be forced to press their attack in order to force the UAHC government into voting on a state of war. This would enable him to receive his long deserved war-time authority, but it would give him the legal authority to seek an armistice… and be granted unequalled power in the inner human sphere. The Crimson Alliance promised him that he would become the governor of Sol System, and he would have every former UAHC controlled colony within one thousand light years answer directly to him.
