by John Ringo
"And that . . . ?"
"It's a matter to energy converter?" Cally said, her eyes widening. "As a weapon?"
"No," Michelle said. "It is a quantum tangler!" She paused and sighed. "I suppose, though, that your description is a close-order approximation of the effect."
"Holy crap," Mike muttered. "How much matter will one hit convert?"
"It will not be localized," Chan said. "The system will first form a link between the tangler and matter that it is directed towards. Then it initiates tangling on the matter."
"So does it blow up part of a big ship or all of a big ship or . . . ?" Mike asked, getting frustrated.
"Most of it," Daisy said, walking up. "Oh. My. God. I can't wait to fire that thing! And did you see the hangar bay?"
"Hangar bay?"
"This is a big ship."
Mike had much better things to do. And, after all, the ship technically belonged to Fleet, not him. The reality was, though, that with Admiral Takagi running rampant cleaning up the Fleet officer corps, Mike was sitting on top of Fleet, not the other way around. So in a way, effectively, it was his ship.
And it was a beauty. Mike wasn't sure what the thing had cost—the Sohons had to be paid and there was all the materials not to mention that code key—but it was worth it. They hadn't toured the whole thing, just the highlights. State of the art CIC, stealth systems, heavy duty close-in-defense system, armored to the max, missiles that were faster than any current . . . It even had two normal space engines based on antimatter ejection systems that would give it more speed and maneuverablility than a current destroyer.
But then there was the hangar bay.
"Is it just me," Cally asked, looking around. "Or is this thing sort of oddly shaped?"
"It's an efficient use of space," Michelle said, just a tad nervously.
"And the entry looks . . ."
"It's a very efficient design," Thomas added.
"And its placement?" Mike asked.
"Only place we could put it," Michelle said, more sturdily. "It's capable of housing nine Falcon Four Space Fighters and two Banshee shuttles. Or a similar mix to size as needed."
"So, the fact that it looks like we're inside a womb and the take-off and landing area looks like . . . I'm not going to say what it looks like . . . is purely coincidental?" Mike asked.
"Absolutely," Michelle and Thomas both said at the same time.
"This ship is beautiful," Mike said. "And obscene."
"So is the human body, General," Daisy said tightly. "And you're talking about me, by the way."
"Sorry," Mike said, shaking his head. "This is a beautiful ship. Truly. Quite the most . . . voluptuous I've ever seen. I've got to ask, though. Are we looking at a class?"
"The basic design parameters are . . ." Michelle started to say and then stopped. "Yes. Smaller versions in general but . . . Yes."
"Good God."
"What is this I hear about an evacuation of Gratoola?"
Mike looked up from his desk and his face turned downward even more than usual.
"Hello, Clerk," Mike replied. "I don't seem to recall saying 'Enter.' "
"I am serious," the Tir snapped. "Do not think that just because you have some current political currency you can simply abandon the capital of the entire Galactic Confederation!"
"I'm not going to abandon it," Mike said. "I have an infantry division training even as we speak. They need equipment, though, and there is a strange dearth of that available. No new SheVas were in the process of being built when we were out there fighting the Posleen. Also a strange dearth of formed units and an entire dearth of heavy units. No new ACS suits had been made in three years. I was wondering why the supply was so short. Not that it matters because you wiped out my fucking corps!"
"I have heard this diatribe from both you and General Wesley before," the Tir said. "I do not need to hear it again. Whatever the conditions before this invasion, you cannot and will not let Gratoola fall!"
"I won't let it fall," Mike said, calmly. "I'm going to do everything in my power to prevent it. That is not the same as expecting to succeed. Get this through your thick skull, Darhel. Your people ensured that humans had their fangs pulled. Nobody trusts the military, the bulk of the youth population has lost any interest in fighting because they just figure they are changing masters and the Hedren only look mildly worse than the Darhel. The forces that could have saved Gratoola are either distributed in penny packets or were destroyed by your orders! I did not create this situation. The Darhel created it. It is, I think, fitting that one of your prime worlds has been devastated. I will cry no tears for anything that happens around Gratoola except the loss of every soldier I send out and the innocent if stupid Indowy. I'll add that the orders I sent for evacuation specifically exclude Darhel. And since I'm commandeering just about every ship available for either sending forces to or extracting critical forces from Gratoola, you can anticipate that the vast majority of Darhel on the planet are Hedren fodder if I fail."
"You are exterminating us," the Tir said in a voice of wonder. "I had no belief that it was possible that you could sink so low."
"I'm not exterminating you," Mike said with a sigh. "I'm doing two things. One, making sure that it's possible to save some of you in the end. If the Hedren win, that's not a sure thing. For us to win against the Hedren, I will eventually need the critical Indowy Sohon and those shipfitters. I do not need Darhel clerks and bankers and politicians. Second, I am assuredly rubbing your noses in the fact that if you spend all your efforts on the military emasculating it, you cannot expect it to be there when you need it. After this war the Darhel are still going to retain a measure of control. Assuming you don't force us into a war of extermination against you. When you regain that measure of control, it might behoove you to recall this lesson. In the words of the Bard:
"For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' 'Chuck him out, the brute!'
"But it's 'Saviour of 'is country,' when the guns begin to shoot;
"An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
"But Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool—you bet that Tommy sees!"
"What in all the universe is that supposed to mean?" the Tir said, looking confused. "Are you referring to that associate of your daughter? Thomas Sunday?"
"Figure it out for yourself, you nitwit," Mike said tiredly. "But you'd better work to make sure the evacuation goes smoothly if you want a single Darhel to survive this war."
"Tir," the Darhel's AID interjected. "There is a priority message. Gil Etullu, clan leader of the Fauldor has entered lintatai."
"Gosh, what a shame," Mike said, leaning back and propping his head with a finger on one cheekbone.
"I . . ." the Tir said, then stared at the general. "Wait . . . Where has Cally been? Fauldor . . ."
"Oh, yeah, them," Mike said, leaning forward to move some folders around. "Gosh, I'm pretty sure I've got a report somewhere here that they were slow-rolling a shipment of Posleen forges. Shame about their clan leader going into lintatai. I suppose it is going to slow things down even more what with the chaos that's going to erupt. You Darhel have such a hard time with transitions of power. Good thing it only happened to one of them; if all of them suddenly went into lintatai you'd probably never recover."
"You . . ." the Tir said, his eyes widening.
Mike leaned back propping his chin on his finger again and contemplated the Darhel.
"I know you're faster and stronger than me," Mike commented. "But I'm pretty sure I can stay alive long enough to wait until you clock out. Done that once already and I was chained up at the time."
"You . . . you . . ." the Darhel said, snarling. "You are a mad man!"
"If you mean mad as in angry, then yes I am," Mike said. "Repeat that diatribe that you recall from myself and General Tam. If you mean mad as in insane, you'd better hope I'm crazy like a fox. Because otherwise we're all screwed. Now, you have a statement to prepare for the media expressing your condolence
s, and mine, and all of Fleet and Fleet Strike and auxiliary Federalized forces, for the unfortunate clan leader. When the news media inevitably ask questions, you will explain that the evacuation is a preventative measure since it's anticipated there will be damage to the yards. The personnel are being sent to other yards to continue the mighty work, blah, blah . . . And say something nice about the unit going to Gratoola, you might look up a precis on them beforehand since those questions are inevitably going to be asked. General theme is that we're one big happy Galactic family who are working shoulder to shoulder to prevent the tyranny of the awful Hedren and restore freedom and justice to the Galaxy."
"And how much of that is true?" the Tir asked.
"Certainly the last part. The very last. You better bet that Tommy sees!"
"What's up?" Frederick asked as voices were raised in the dayroom.
The barracks for first years were bay barracks constructed of locally pressed plastic. It was the best material the Folk had for the first few years of settlement. The barracks had originally been communal facilities for the new colonists and only later handed over to the Bruederschafts.
On one end was a small "dayroom" which was the most recreation most of the first-years would see all year. It held a foozball table, currently broken, and a large supply of pornographic magazines, most with impossible to open pages.
When the new recruits were given a half-day pass they could visit the slop-house, which served brats and very bad beer. The only saving grace was that both were cheap. Given the pay of Schutzes, that was a good thing.
"A distribution form was just posted," Ewald Higger said. The rifleman from Second Platoon was trotting down the barracks. "It has something about the war."
Frederick set down his worn boot that was refusing to take a shine and walked to the dayroom.
There was a crowd around the DF so he couldn't see it, but he could hear the exclamations.
"Generalmajor? What an insult!"
"Yes! Our own Bruederschaft!"
"Units, now," another voice said. "We will be the Panzer Schwere Michael Wittmann!"
"Nobody here knows how to drive a panzer," another interjected.
"Speak for yourself, Schutze," a voice said from by Frederick's elbow.
"Achtung!" Eric barked. "Unteroffizier!"
The recruits all snapped to attention as Eric's gunner walked across the day-room.
"Since you idiots were hogging the board I will now read it aloud," Harz said, loudly. "Attention to orders.
"Fleet Strike Special Order Number 79833.
"SS Panzergrenadier Division Vaterland, commander Generalmajor Fredrik Mühlenkampf, is called to active duty April 5th, 2061, by order of General Michael O'Neal, Fleet Strike. SS Panzergrenadier Division Vaterland has position of Fleet Strike attached auxiliary unit. SS Panzergrenadier Division Vaterland shall prepare for off-planet duty for a period of no less than 1 (one) year.
"Headquarters SS Panzergrenadier Division Vaterland supplemental instructions.
"My people. A new enemy force threatens not only the Federation but Earth and the Fatherland. We have been requested to respond as a people, as a unit, and I have accepted this request. This is a warning order for all active reserve members of Brotherhoods to prepare for full-scale mobilization. New equipment, production equipment and materials will be sent to our People to prepare us for the great battles that lie ahead. As always, only the best is expected of the Freilaender. We shall battle for the honor and safety of the Fatherland, for our homes and for our illustrious names. Although the war may be long, we shall overcome our adversaries on the field as we always have. Arise my people; the smoke of battle draws near.
"Mühlenkampf.
"That is what's on the DF," Harz ground out. "But since you are recruits and thus too stupid to figure the rest out I was sent down here to explain it to you in very small words. Yes, Herr Generalfeldmarschall is now Herr Generalmajor. What else do you expect? Do you see multiple armies for a Generalfeldmarschall to command? Neither do I. There is just the Volk. We can mass, at most, one division. The Generalfeldmarschall has chosen to lead us, as he always has, rather than argue for a higher rank. What this should tell you is how serious the Generalfeldmarschall considers this new threat. Yes, we have no Panzers. The SS had no panzers when I joined. I ended the war as gunner of a Tiger III. Panzers will be pulled from storage or perhaps made. You did notice the part of about weapons and materials, yes?
"For the rest, there are many questions. It doesn't matter. You are all recruits and all you need do is what the Unteroffiziers tell you. And if you don't, it's the same as always: we will put our boot up your ass. Now get back to your duties. You can expect that little pleasantness of your first six months to soon seem like a holiday."
"Now we get to see what this thing does," Captain McNair said.
Admiral Takagi had many things to do besides watch the first test firing of a new weapon. The Fleet, what remained of it, was a shambles. During the war the Fleet had started as primarily a European and American domain. They had the officers familiar with fielding large systems, and maintaining the crews under the cramped and high-pressure conditions of a large warship. They had proven, repeatedly, that they could and would do whatever was necessary to carry the fight to the enemy.
However, the first major space battles of the war had bled that fleet white. Virtually every ship had been turned to scrap then rebuilt, some of them multiple times. The superdreadnought Kaga had been on its fifth iteration by the time the Posleen were stopped.
In most cases, especially of the capital ships, the drifting hulks remained but not much of the crews. Over six hundred thousand trained sailors and officers had been lost in one battle.
With Europe gripped in a war of extinction and the U.S. cut off, the only source for new officers, NCOs and sailors were the virtually untouched islands of Indonesia and the Phillipines. There had been landings in both countries, landings that had decimated their central cities, but vast populated areas remained.
So the Fleet shifted, more and more, to officers and crew from those areas. Indonesian officers tended to supplant the Filipinos rather quickly. Not that, in the end, there was any great difference.
Cleaning up Fleet was a day-in, day-out nightmare. Takao had started by using the same database O'Neal had used to find him, searching the Darhel records for any officer in Fleet they found to be "untrustworthy." Most of those, some of them Southeast Asians, had also been competent but he was the only officer who had ever risen above lieutenant commander. There were many places where a competent lieutenant commander could make quite a difference, but the reality was that he needed every rank from lieutenant to admiral and their accompanying NCOs.
So he had delved into the record of remaining officers on Earth and the nearby stars. An AID O'Neal said he could "probably trust" ran the search, sifting for any former Fleet officers who weren't corrupted by the Darhel. But there were so few. Most of the competent and honorable officers that survived the war had been forced out into retirement. More than a few of those, including every senior officer who had participated in the "reconnaissance in force" that had relieved the Siege of Earth, had sustained mortal "accidents" after retirement.
The Darhel were nothing if not vindictive.
Given the number of ships he had and administrative positions, he needed six thousand officers that were trustworthy and about a similar number of NCOs.
He had been able to find two hundred and thirteen officers and about seven hundred NCOs. Some of them weren't what he'd call competent but they all had their hearts in the right place. They still weren't a drop in the bucket and every day, in part because they were now looking at the real condition of the Fleet, there was another report of some critical failure.
So he really had better things to be doing right now. But if he had to look at one more negative report he was going to commit seppuku.
The target was a small nickel-iron asteroid, one of the Apollo asteroids that
roamed the empty space between Earth's orbit and that of Mars. It was conveniently close and since such asteroids were considered a potential threat it had long before been mapped.
It also was about the size of a Hedren destroyer.
"So we gonna do this or what?" Daisy Mae asked, arching. "I am ready to fire, Captain."
"Permission to open fire, Admiral?" Jeff asked.
"Permission granted, Captain," Takagi replied.
"XO, engage target with QT guns," Captain McNair said.
The dreadnought was pointed more-or-less directly at the asteroid at a range of just over a million and a half kilometers. According to the mentat, the system should be able to lock within twenty degrees of forward and at a range of up to seven light-seconds. They were right at the edge of range because Captain McNair did not want to be near something that was having "random energy conversion events" going on.
