by Michael Ryan
“I hope I can be left out of these political machinations in the future. Find another hero. As to the Gurts beating us, whether we can reverse the course of the war or not, the more damage I do here, the more negotiating power you’ll have, if it comes to that.” Balestain paused. “I’d like your permission to adopt no-quarter rules of engagement. I barely have the logistics in place to manage our own needs, much less play nanny to prisoners.”
The general’s scowl deepened. “Done. But military targets only.”
“If I’m saddled with the responsibility of feeding and housing civilians, I’ll be overwhelmed.”
The general’s eyes widened. “You’re suggesting a zero-prisoners policy? Civilians included?”
“That’s right.”
The general chose his words carefully. “I can’t authorize tactics that will come back to haunt us in future negotiations,” he said flatly. He looked away. “You have your orders, Major.”
“Acknowledged, sir. End record.”
“End record,” the general said.
“Okay, no bullshitting, Malokin,” the major said, using the general’s given name. “How do you want me to proceed?”
General Bolfenter coughed. “Kill as many as you can.”
Balestain ended the transmission and grinned. His hatred for humans had only intensified during his years on Earth and had become a consuming passion as the war had gone against his side in spite of his best efforts. Humans were like feral livestock – they had some uses as cheap labor, but once out of their cages had little redeeming value he could see. Why his superiors insisted on coddling humanity was beyond his comprehension; but now, at least, he was free to wage war as he understood it had to be fought if it was to inspire terror in the enemy.
The general’s unofficial approval of his proposal signaled that the gloves could finally come off. He was confident the general would run interference for him if the inevitable complaints were lodged. The thought of it didn’t trouble him.
Not when compared to the chaos he could visit on the enemy.
He would be unremitting death riding a fire-breathing horse, and he would destroy everything in his path, expecting and delivering no mercy.
~~~
Six hours later, Balestain was back on the battlefield and had issued an order to hold his two platoons of TCI-Armored infantry back in reserve.
“How long should we stand down, sir?” one of his platoon leaders asked after the battle had shifted in favor of the Gurts.
“Hold until I give the order, Lieutenant,” Balestain answered. With seven tanks and two mechas on the field supporting his regular infantrymen, he didn’t want to risk his shock troops if he could help it. “Get that GH-16 to higher ground,” he ordered.
“Sir,” the operator in the GH-16 mecha said, “I’ve got a malfunction in my–”
The line went dead.
“Goddammit,” Balestain snarled. “Somebody move south and support that mecha before…shit. Never mind. Disregard. Lieutenant Briggslate, move your squad into that swale and protect the other GH-16.”
“On it, sir,” the lieutenant answered. He moved his tanks into position to protect the rear of the last standing mecha while continuing to pound the Gurt bunkers with rail-cannons.
Balestain watched the destroyed mecha burn as his comm line crackled.
“I’ve got enemy movement in sector B-2, sir,” another platoon leader said. “Permission to engage?”
“Granted.”
Balestain smiled. The move was an obvious retreat toward a lightly fortified small city approximately five clicks to the southwest.
Which meant that the Gurts were low on ammo – there was no other explanation for the abrupt reversal. He keyed the commander of one of his tanks. It was carrying fourteen HE, seven KE, and enough material to make forty thousand antipersonnel bolts for the coaxial Gauss gun.
“Yes, Major,” the TC said.
“I want you to conserve munitions, Sergeant.”
“Sir, to what extent?”
“Critical shots only to defend our last mecha,” Balestain answered. “When it falls, I’m going to move you through sector B-2. You’ll be following the enemy into the city.”
“Fire rules inside the population center, sir?”
“Anything that breathes, Sergeant.”
A moment’s hesitation was followed by a grunt. “Yes, sir.”
Balestain activated the contact screen for the regular infantry. There were four hundred glowing dots. Half had changed from green to black, indicating they were dead, and a quarter were yellow. He toggled to the intel officer’s comm line.
“Lieutenant, what’s the status on the remaining Gurt infantry? Armored and non-armored. Also, I need a field assessment of the defensive capabilities of that city – Urdaniction.”
“Yes, sir, give me a minute on the numbers.”
The major made a note of the time. “We don’t have all day, Lieutenant.”
“Sir, there are approximately two hundred and seventy-five lightly armored Gurts on the field. The TCI-Armored count is seventeen, sir.”
“Get on that assessment.”
“Sir.”
The defensive capacity of Urdaniction wouldn’t likely result in a change of strategy, but Balestain disliked surprises.
At exactly sixty-two seconds, he keyed the comm line again. “Lieutenant, we don’t have enough ammunition to wait for you to write a book report. Give me what you’ve got.”
“Yes, sir. Urdaniction is a suburban center that houses workers for several larger cities, all reached by high-speed rail. I can send you a map of the rail lines if you like, sir.”
“Population estimate? Possible defensive weapons?”
“No defensive capability to speak of. I’d need more time to be certain, but my initial assessment is that it’s largely helpless.”
“Very well, that’s all I need. Forward the rail locations to our rear guns, but tell them they’re last to target.”
An hour later, the battle had turned decisively in favor of the Teds.
“Sir, the enemy’s in full-scale retreat,” one of three surviving platoon leaders reported over Balestain’s comm line.
“Pursue and engage,” he ordered.
“Sir.”
Balestain silenced the comm line and ordered a transport. While he waited, he slipped a pair of HP-Armor coveralls over his uniform. After checking the fastenings, he clamped a helmet in place and left the command center.
He keyed his second-in-command as he marched to the exit. “Captain Hallscontia, if I’m taken off-line, you’re to finish what I’ve started here, understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the captain acknowledged. “Sir, as a reminder, we’ve still got two platoons of armor sitting in the wings. Shall I order them to move?”
“Negative. I’ll issue orders for them shortly.”
“Sir.”
Balestain kept Captain Hallscontia on his staff because the man knew better than to expect long-winded explanations. He asked questions, but once he received an answer, that was the end of it. Balestain wished he could requisition more officers like the captain, but at this stage of the war they were in short supply.
Once in the armored transport, Balestain ordered both platoons of TCI infantry to meet him at a set point. When the groups arrived, he stepped from the vehicle and studied them before addressing them. “Men,” he said, “we’re here so we can speak on short-range IR. This will have to be quick and is coded as maximally classified.” He paused to let that sink in and then cleared his throat, assured he had their complete attention. “We’ve been ordered to completely sanitize this city, taking no prisoners. Questions?”
“Sir, completely?” one of the platoon leaders asked. “There are…what, over a million civilians still within the city limits?”
“That’s not our concern. Our orders are to wipe it from the map, Lieutenant. Any other questions?”
“Infrastructure, sir?”
“Le
t the long guns worry about that.”
A moment of silence hung heavy in the air at the unprecedented command. Civilians were traditionally off-limits except as collateral damage. But the men were loyal to the major, and if he’d accepted the order to slaughter a million innocents, he’d had good reason.
“Move out,” he ordered.
The Tedesconian TCI-Armored soldiers marched into Urdaniction and, after a token resistance by the surviving Gurt forces, methodically butchered the better part of one point one million civilians.
CHAPTER THREE
The conquest of the Earth, which mostly means the taking it away from those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses than ourselves, is not a pretty thing when you look into it too much.
~ Joseph Conrad
Two Years after the Arctic Mission
December 19, 2301 Human Common Era
Command transferred me to Blue Squad, Fourth Platoon, Delta Company of the Seventeenth Regiment after I recovered from hypothermia and did my time in army-required PTSD therapy.
I was assigned a new partner, Callie Dunn, whom I instantly took a liking to, but who also caused me endless worry. I didn’t want to mourn again as I had for Juliana, who’d died a shameful death in the cold. Her loss still caused me nightmares, and I’d sworn to myself that I’d never allow anything like her needless death to ever happen again.
Around the same time I was cleared for duty, HQ released the latest version of TCI-Armor, which was a major leap forward in technology. Delta Company was fitted with the new suits and rotated through the lunar training facilities. Suit retraining took six months. Specialty training – we’d both qualified for sniper school – took another six.
After a year together, Callie and I were in love.
We were also promoted together to the rank of corporal.
A week after our graduation ceremony, we were dropped into some of the worst fighting on Earth. We lost nearly twenty percent of our unit inside of a month.
Sometimes I wonder what kind of math is used by generals and politicians to justify their sending legions of fighters to their deaths for no apparent reason, but ours is not to reason why. Infantry’s job is to do and die.
And die we did.
~~~
Eventually we received orders to make the trip to Purvas, the home planet of the Guritains, the Tedesconians, the Errusiakos, and one hundred and ninety-three other nationalities. The geopolitics on Purvas were as complex as any had been on Earth, with secret factions, longstanding rivalries, and racial hatreds that spanned centuries.
Purvasts had developed interstellar travel before humans, and they’d entered the orbit of our mineral-rich home like Cortés landing in the New World in the sixteenth century. Sol’s third planet held treasures that humans hadn’t learned to fully exploit, and by the time human experts comprehended the true value hidden in Earth’s crust, the alien explorers had staked claims guarded with both armaments and interplanetary laws that left humanity out of the equation.
Humans hadn’t been far from developing the same technology used in a Belkinotic drive, but many purvasts had still considered earthlings – humans of all races – as uncouth savages.
The Guritains were at war with the Tedesconians in part because of conflicts over territory on Earth. Like most humans, I’d sided with the Guritains, whose physical appearance, culture, and behavior had more similarities to earthlings’ than those of the Teds. Unlike most humans, I’d joined the Guritain Armed Forces and declared my lifetime commitment in an ancient Guritain blood oath, pledging loyalty, fidelity, and service until death. Such was my youthful idealism that I never stopped to consider how soon that death might come.
~~~
When you’re in an SDI unit, on standby orders, the speculation about when and where you’re about to be dropped into the shit is constant. Most get it wrong, but eventually the unit’s deployed, and at least one of the rumors winds up being correct. The speculation this time around – our first off-Earth drop – had resulted in a thick atmosphere of tension and a rise of latent fear in even the seasoned veterans. It was as if our primitive brains sensed something unnatural was about to happen.
The only thing we could be certain of was that we were going to be dropped onto a planet other than Earth, and while I hadn’t placed my military credit dollars into any of the betting pools, if I had, I’d have bet on this particular day.
I just had a feeling.
~~~
I watched Callie shuffle and riffle a deck of worn cards, the usual upbeat smile on her freckled face replaced with a tight line. I meant to ask her what she was thinking, but she beat me to the question, her hazel eyes boring into me with an intensity I’d never completely gotten used to.
“What are you daydreaming about?” she asked.
I wished I’d asked first. I swallowed and studied my boots, unwilling to meet her gaze. She already knew me too well, and I realized she knew I was lying as I mumbled, “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” she pressed.
I hesitated. “Nothing. Unless you count freezing to death.”
She frowned. “That was a long time ago.”
“Would you – you know – take a…”
Her expression hardened and she leaned across the table. She took my hand and whispered to me while glancing around. “No. And you shouldn’t talk about it openly. You’re up for review soon.”
“Shit. I know, it’s just…well, never mind. Deal something.”
She studied me for a long beat and then returned to shuffling the cards. “You’re not going to freeze to death in the Biragon.”
“No,” I agreed. The Biragon is the biggest rainforest on Purvas, easily double the size of the Amazon before the War of the Americas.
“But there’s a million other ways to die,” she added. “I mean, if you’re actively trying to give yourself an ulcer.”
I managed a pained grin. “Always the bearer of good news and cheer.”
She gave me a shoulder shrug and a tense smile. “I call it being real.”
“You’re a cynic and a pessimist, and entirely too sarcastic.” I held back a smile of my own, but we made eye contact, and I knew she’d heard the flirtation in my voice.
“Keep talking like that,” she said, “and I’ll drag you back to our bunk for another round of PT.”
“Please, Callie,” I protested. “I’m only human.”
“Three-quarters,” she corrected.
“I’m not–”
“Quit bitching,” she said, and looked away. “I’m going to breakfast. You coming?”
“Stomach content is the most accurate predictor of an army’s odds of victory,” I quoted from an old military textbook.
We were rising from the table when a voice rang out.
“Platoon! Alert and ready!” a private shouted from the far end of the room.
We straightened to attention, startled by the entrance of our platoon leader. It wasn’t often that an officer entered our living quarters, especially when in transit.
“At ease, boys and girls,” he said. “Gather around and take a knee.”
Callie and I exchanged a knowing glance. We were approaching the drop.
~~~
The institutionalized bond that formed between partnered warriors was an old Guritain army tradition. I wasn’t convinced at first that it was a good idea or a viable standard; it seemed, on paper, to be unnatural and mechanical.
What could a bunch of army psychologists understand about my taste in the opposite sex, after all? The matching was based on a battery of tests and questionnaires, the kind of thing that doesn’t make sense…until it does.
I’d been in the middle of changing my mind when Juliana perished. I felt abandoned by her death, and I ended up devastated and angry at myself, at her, and at the army for pushing us together. After months of despair and a pain that felt like I’d been gut-stabbed with a dull knife, I promised myself that I’d never allow myself to experienc
e that kind of misery again.
But I was forced to admit that after a few weeks of bonding with Callie – by which I mean everything from shared showers, meals, sleep, and sex to being punished together during TCI-Armor retraining – I became a true believer in the tradition.
I knew Callie was good for me, and I was good for her. We soon lost count of how many times we’d saved each other’s lives.
That morning, we ate breakfast together without much talking before we returned to our bunk and made love as if it would be the last time.
Three hours later, we reported for fitting.
~~~
“Relax, Avery,” the medical specialist said.
“Easy for you to say,” I mumbled under my breath.
I groaned as the specialist slid the suit’s anal extraction tube into place.
“Hold still, please.” He mechanically inserted a catheter, and I nearly bit my tongue.
I closed my eyes and tried to imagine myself on leave – somewhere amazing, peaceful, and safe, like a secluded beach in the Pacific, far from any war zone. I imagined a warm, sunny day with a gentle breeze and crystal clear, temperate waters.
I turned my head toward where Callie was lying on another table. “Let’s go to Australia when we get Earthside,” I said.
“Remain still and look up,” the specialist droned. “And don’t let Top hear you use that name. Open your eyes, please. This isn’t the first time you’ve done this.”
“Sounds good,” Callie said, responding to my fantasy in a voice that was close to a purr. “I like beaches, bitches in bikinis, and beer as much as the next trooper. Maybe we could hit Vietnam or Bali instead of Aus–New Tacveeton?”
I opened my eyes, as instructed. “Yeah, sure,” I said. “We could try scuba diving.”
The specialist squeezed several drops of milky white liquid into each of my eyes. I blinked. He lifted my eyelids and set contact lenses into the fluid floating on my corneas. I had myrtle green eyes that were more sensitive to light, so I required a special-order part – contacts designed for blue and green eyes.
