by John Ringo
“You made good time,” Michelle said, leading the way out of the room.
“Time is of the essence,” Karthe said. “I admit to some fatigue.”
“Rooms have been prepared,” Michelle replied. “You should rest before we begin exploring these new disciplines.”
Exploring an undiscovered country, Karthe transmitted. To prevent other sohon from affecting reality will be difficult.
It is like any game, Michelle said, placidly. One uses one’s strengths against the enemy’s weakness. We must discover both within ourselves.
* * *
This is all new.
Michelle and Karthe sat opposite each other, a small electric motor spinning away between them. Arrayed around the periphery of the room were fifth and sixth level sohons, human and Indowy, who were there to prevent any of the energies escaping from the chamber. In an adjacent room, Thomas Coates, Chang Kan and a few of the newly arrived Indowy volunteers observed the training exercise.
I have never attempted to stop another sohon from performing a function, Karthe continued.
I will show you what I intend to do, Michelle thought, the motor suddenly grinding to a halt. I simply prevented the flow of electrons. Through this section of wiring, the reality is that metal is a resistor rather than a conductor.
I reset reality, Karthe thought, opening up the flow of eletrons.
Could you sense my actions? Michell asked.
I could see the reality changing, Karthe replied.
This time, stop me as I attempt to change the reality, Michelle thought. We begin.
The machine stuttered for a moment, winding down then spinning back up.
It is easier to maintain reality than to change it, Karthe thought.
The polyverse resists, as always, Michelle replied. This is to the benefit of the defender. The benefit to the attacker is that they choose the point of attack.
The machine stopped.
That was a different attack, Karthe thought with a touch of annoyance as the machine started back up.
As is this, Michelle replied when the machine stopped again. Now we battle.
* * *
“Wow,” Prevatt said. “All powerful wizards. They’re making an electric motor start and stop. I can do the same thing with a remote.”
“They’re starting on easy stuff,” Mosovich said, keeping an eye on the video from the training room. He had to admit it was about as interesting as watching paint dry. But. “I once saw Michelle rip apart a concrete loading dock like it was cardboard. You don’t want these guys to get angry at each other.”
As he said that, the electric motor exploded.
* * *
I fear we placed too much pressure on the structures of reality, Karthe thought.
And I win, Michelle thought, smugly. A destroyed motor is a non-functioning motor. The requirements on your part were to keep it functioning.
Only for a moment, Karthe thought as the scattered parts, down to the molecules of gaseous copper, sprang back together.
* * *
“O-kay,” Prevatt said, his eyes wide. “That was impressive.”
“Told ya.”
* * *
I am blocked, Michelle thought.
Karthe had shifted tactics. He had been responding to Michelle’s individual attacks. Finally, he determined that all he had to do was maintain a shell of utter reality around the motor. The polyverse actually fed him, wanting to maintain normal reality, causing him to have to expend far less energy than Michelle in holding the zone.
I win, Karthe thought, trying not to feel smug. The Indowy did not participate in competitive games. All of their games, to the extent they played them, emphasized cooperation. This was a new world to him, but he found it unusually intoxicating.
But can you maintain such a shell over an entire ship? Michelle asked. A fleet?
I could over a ship, Karthe said. Even a superdreadnought. But that is not the interesting question. Maugo?
Yes, Mentat? The fifth level sohon was a recent arrival by ship, a student of a master who had chosen to reject defense as an option. The fifth level had chosen otherwise and was still unassigned to a new Master. Since all the students who had accompanied the apparating masters were sixth level or above, he was the weakest adept in the room.
You have seen what I have done?
Yes, Master.
Maintain it, Karthe said. Against the Michon.
This was not war, it was training. Michelle knew the adage of her human father, that you fight as you train, but this was very easy training. Learning on all sides. It was not time to fight as you train. She, therefore, let the lower level mentat gather his thoughts, create the same zone as the Master. She gave him time to adjust. And to start to worry.
Then she attacked.
* * *
“I got about a billion things I should be doing,” Prevatt said, still not leaving the monitor. “Is it just me, or is Karthe sort of not looking like he’s doing anything?”
“He’s not,” Mosovich said. “But check out the third Indowy from the left against the wall.”
“Whoa,” Prevatt said. “What the hell is causing that?”
* * *
Indowy do not sweat. Instead, to radiate excess heat the photosynthetic cilia that coat their body — the thin, hair-like green ‘fur’ that make them look like teddy-bears — begins to move. It vibrates in waves, cascading up and down their body, blowing away the heat in much the same way that leaves rustle in a gentle wind.
Maugo looked like he’d been caught in a hurricane.
* * *
I think that is enough, Michelle said, terminating her attack. I’m not sure that Maugo could have held out indefinitely against my attack, but there are many fifth levels. In a similar situation, they could rotate to maintain the field. However, I have another attack I would try. One… less pleasant. Would you have your student defend or do so yourself?
He is not accepted as my student, Karthe pointed out.
Michelle glanced at the younger Indowy, who looked as if he’d just run a marathon.
Oh, I think you’ve accepted him, she thought.
Karthe flicked his ears, an Indowy indicator of mild humor.
Agreed, the mentat replied. But I think I would have you try the attack on me. Begin.
Michelle began probing at the engine, trying to find a hole through the protection field then shifted her attack. The generator stopped.
You affected my MIND!
The sohon telepathy bellow was slightly painful in and of itself. Michelle filed that as useful information.
Do you think the Hedren will hesitate to do so? she asked.
She had never seen an Indowy angry. She’d seen annoyance from time to time and often frustration. But never real anger.
She was seeing it now. Karthe was full wrath-of-God angry. Facing it, even if not for the first time, in a sohon adept of at least her own level was not happy-making.
Distantly she could sense the watching mentats bringing up their powers. It was the sort of rolling up of sleeves you’d see in a bar when two groups are preparing to separate a couple of individuals that are right on the edge of a brawl.
We do not attack individuals! Karthe replied, hotly.
I apologize, Michelle thought. But I do not agree. I apologize because I should have obtained your permission before using that attack. I disagree because we must learn to defend against just such attacks. The Hedren and their sohon-using slaves can and will use them.
If I might interrupt, Mentat Gonau thought from the adjoining room. Where did you learn that? It was not manipulation of brain chemistry.
From the device Erick Winchon had been studying, Michelle said. The device’s method of attack is really quite elegant.
You told your sister you were not going to study the device’s techniques, Karthe thought, just how they were generated.
I lied. Shall we continue training?
CHAPTER TWELVE
&n
bsp; Cutprice quickly found out that the Officer Placement Board was even more complicated than buying stocks. Sending text messages back and forth, he and Wacleva started building the NCO cadre for the company. The absolute most points was not always a perfect guide. Scrolling down the list, typing in an occasional name, he and Wacleva found that many of the NCOs they wanted were in the upper quadrant but not near the top. They all had bids against them already, but between them, and sending some messages to get the NCOs to buy in, they managed to fill the TOE pretty steadily. Some guys were off-line but it seemed like most everybody was playing ‘match my unit.’
The problem was, he hadn’t even bid on a unit, yet. He’d put in a bid for a random company, but as Norris had pointed out, that could be in a rag-bag unit. He looked at the officers who had bid on him and the two with the most points were both the ones he didn’t want and… what was the word? clustered around units he didn’t want to be a part of. He’d be a very big fish in a very small pond. But since a company really depended on the companies around it, on the battalions around theirs, being in a sucky brigade was a good way to earn a medal: Posthumously.
He was going to have to cluster. And anyone who had been in the military for any time at all, knew what that meant.
* * *
If it was tough for Cutprice it was worse for the officers managing the boards.
The first problem was, they had no real idea how many officers and NCOs were going to be available for cadre on any particular day. A cut-off point for the first recalls had at least been determined, so when the last recall of that day was recorded, they’d know their total cadre.
But they’d started with an estimate of sufficient cadre for a division. An officer had been hand-picked to command the division — three infanty regiments, one tank regiment one field artillery, one armor and one support and supply — given a staff to begin standing up the division and then sat back to watch the boards. If he, in his opinion, did not like the choices of regimental and battalion commanders he had the option to override them. But, in general, the recalled officers with high points all were worthy of commanding their respective units. Generals with years in combat commands were going to be able to commmand a battalion in their sleep. Guys who had commanded armies were going to be able to run a brigade. They’d not only done it, they’d trained subordinates to do it.
But between conscription numbers going up and the recall gaining steam, the estimate went up to a division reinforced by a regiment. Then two regiments. Then two divisions. A second officer was picked for the new division.
At this point, cadre numbers were going over into a tenth regiment. Conscription and volunteer numbers, the troops and junior NCOs in other words, were still down. But they’d fluctuated ahead and behind cadre numbers the whole time.
Each time that cadre numbers got high enough, a new regiment had to be added to the board. When that happened, all the bids suddenly shifted. Then there was finding cadre for the training commands. Very few high-point cadre wanted a training unit so some of them were just going to have to suck it up.
It was a nightmare.
“Board says that there’s enough numbers for another regiment,” the major said, sighing. “Who’s up next?”
“Fourteenth,” his assistant said. “Golden Dragons.”
“Post it.”
“You think everybody’s having as much of a jug-fuck as we are?”
* * *
Screened by a line of advancing artillery, the tanks and AFVs of Schwere Panzer Battalion Michael Wittman rolled across the small valley in assault formation, heading for a stand of trees on the far ridge.
Simulated bursts of plasma artillery exploded around them. Mines popped up. Some of the tanks and Marders slowed to a stop as red lights on their exterior turned on. Simulated anti-tank missiles lifted off from the woodline as lines of blue fire searched out. More of the tracks slowed as defenses crumbled. But missiles were blotted from the sky by railgun fire. The plasma blasts were diverted by shields. Smoke rounds fell. Unfortunately, most of them fell behind the line of advancing armor failing to shield it from view.
Despite that, the majority of the unit crashed into the distant woods. Troop doors opened and infantry jumped to the ground, taking firing positions and moving forward as the slowed tanks and AFVs used direct fire to dig the enemy from their positions.
“Exercise terminated,” Muehlenkampf said. “Head us over to the objective.”
His driver kicked the SUV into gear and maneuvered through the heavy undergrowth towards the ridgeline. It took about fifteen minutes for the Generalmajor to join the unit and find its commander.
Oberstlieutnant Dieter Schultz was in the center of the armored lager having a terse hot-wash of the exercise. But when the Generalmajor’s vehicle entered the clearing made by the big armored vehicles he waved his junior commanders away, picked up the steel pot filled with flowers at his feet and walked over.
“Generalmajor,” Dieter said, saluting.
“Oberstleutnant Schultz,” Muehlenkampf said, returning the salute. “Comments?”
“Various problems,” Schultz replied, tightly. “We took too many casualties. We will have to work much harder on our artillery direction. Also I failed to anticipate the minefield.”
“Because there was no intelligence indicating that the Hedren use them,” Muehlenkampf said. “I ordered it added to the exercise because if they do not, I’m sure they will quickly. I consider it, for your level of training, fair.”
“And we ship in three days,” Dieter said, shaking his head. “We are not ready, Generalmajor.”
“War rarely gives us the luxury of being as ready as we would wish,” Muehlenkampf replied. “And even when we are, it rarely goes as we expect. I’m sure we will prove the same truths to the Hedren. Take your unit back to the kasserne and begin preparations for movement. Time is not our friend.”
* * *
“See, Norris really understands this system,” Cutprice said. “It’s like a computer game or a game of chess. You got to figure out what your opponents are going to do and all the variables around you. But it’s different than chess because you can get allies.”
Cutprice had contacted several of the NCO’s and officers he’d hand-picked and called a meeting at the Rod and Gun Club. The purpose of the meeting was to reduce the cluster fuck that clustering caused.
“I told you, sir,” Wacleva said, sipping his beer. “The old 505 hands want to go for 5th infantry regiment. Close as we can get to the 505.”
“The average numbers are higher on the 5th,” Lt. Norris said. “The average company command at the 5th is running better than five hundred points.”
“Nobody cares about the Dragons,” Cutprice said. “But the point is not what a unit’s history might say about it, it’s what kind of a command group it has. And I’m planning on stacking the deck.”
“You’re going to be a company commander, sir,” Wacleva said. “With all due respect.”
“Sure, but I’m also planning on picking and choosing my battalion commander,” Cutprice said, grinning. “And regimental. By getting them to agree to put their points on the Dragons. I’ve taken a look. I’ve got more points than most of the colonels on the Board. I’m going to build a regiment that we can survive in. But everybody has to be onboard.”
“That’s what a team is all about, sir,” Wacleva said. “But how you gonna wag the dog?”
“By bringing in some dark horses.”
* * *
Arkady Simosin regarded the Board grumpily. To get a battalion, he had realized, he was going to have to cluster. And nobody wanted to cluster around him.
Arkady Simosin had been a major general when the President announced that not only had the world been contacted by friendly aliens, but that they’d brought a warning that less friendly aliens were on the way. Shortly thereafter, as the Army began to bulge at the seams, he had been slotted as a corps commander.
It was a Corps that hadn’t ex
isted six months before and getting it up and running had been a real challenge. Especially since the personnel system had gotten so wacked that most of the new soldiers were, at best, half trained and regularly mutinous. The US Army hadn’t dealt with a worse group of soldiers since the Civil War.
But he had been getting them whipped into shape when, well before they were supposed to arrive, a battlegroup of Posleen had dropped into northern Virginia.
Even then… Well, things could have gone against him in battle, the Posleen were no enemy to fight in the open. But what had really bitten him in the ass was when a smart Posleen, or some said the Darhel, others the Cyber Corps, had hacked the corps command net and sent multiple conflicting orders out to units. Artillery had fallen on engaged units, units had been ordered to retreat, or — in many ways worse — assault forward, none of those orders actually originating from him.
That had hardly mattered at the board of inquiry. It had kept him from being shot, he supposed, but he had been reduced in rank and spent most of the rest of the war shuffling paper for other more “stellar” generals.
He had been given one chance to redeem his name when the Posleen seemed about to decisively break the back of the Appalachian Defense line. He’d been given command of a division, one of the reserve divisions around Asheville, and sent in to assault the Posleen in some of the worst terrain available in the Eastern US, the Smokey Mountains.
The division had been trained for positional defense, not assault. He’d had to shoot a few people and fire many many more, to get it moving. But he’d done it and pushed and harried them through those mountains until they shown.
Alas, the War had ended shortly afterwards. As a general with a still somewhat stained reputation he’d been politely shown the door as fast as the division could be stood-down.
