Battlefield Earth

by L. Ron Hubbard

  Jonnie was getting into the warm boots. “Well, go on.”

  “It’s a kind of weird scene,” continued Robert. “When they got a safety guarantee they came out of the tank. They said they were the Chamco brothers. We got interrogation going. They said they knew Terl had sold out. It seems there was a mine manager named Char, a friend of theirs, who turned up missing at the firing. Well, this Char told the Chamco brothers that there'd been a murder. That Terl had murdered the head of the planet so he could appoint a new Planet Head named Ker. And that Ker, this afternoon, had denied them ammunition for the tank. The Chamcos claim Terl and Ker have sold out to some race called the 'Hockners of Duraleb' and even launched the drone to wipe out the other minesites."

  “I suppose it's mostly correct,” said Jonnie. “Except the parts about the Hockners and the drone. The Psychlos have a lot of enemies, but according to their histories they defeated the Hockners a couple of hundred years ago. Listen, Sir Robert, in all due respect, I’ve got to be going!”

  “There's more,” said Robert the Fox. “They haven't got tank and plane fuel in there, and we've cut down four sorties of theirs to get to the fuel and ammunition dump way over there. But they have plenty of blast rifle ammunition. We don't have men enough for an assault-”

  “What else?” said Jonnie. “Sounds like good news, not bad.”

  “Well, it's not all good news. It seems there's sixteen levels of compound under us. Each level stretches for acres. Quarters, shops, garages, hangars, offices, workrooms, libraries, supply warehouses-”

  “I didn't know it was that much, but that's not bad news either.”

  “Wait. If that thing were to be hit with radiation this whole assault force would be blown to bits. We're fighting on a loaded bomb. We must save those planes and equipment if we have to defend Earth. And we need them for reconstruction if we really did blow up Psychlo."

  “You'll have air support shortly,” said Jonnie. “You can withdraw-”

  “Well, the Chamco brothers say they know what will happen in there. That we'll flood the place with air! They said they know how 'us Hockners' took the Duraleb system back. They say there aren't enough breathe-gas masks and vials but the recirculating system has plenty. These Chamco brothers are design and maintenance engineers. They promised to help us if we paid them. They say the whole planet has been on half-pay and no bonuses. And they don't want to be killed in an 'air flood' as they called it.”

  Jonnie had on the warm clothing and was finishing a sandwich of oat bread and dried venison. “Sir Robert, as soon as you get air support you can plan something-”

  “The Chamco brothers told us the breathe-gas recirculating system was exterior to the base and air-cooled, and they were tricked into admitting all one had to do was shoot up the intake pipes from the cooling system and the pumps would fill the whole compound with air.”

  “You got it all solved,” said Jonnie.

  “Yes, but we need the intakes shot up at long range from the air.”

  “That shouldn't take long. As soon as

  Glencannon gets here-'

  “Well, I think you ought to do it,” said Robert. “It’s not very dangerous and if you fire from about a half-mile off-'

  “I can do that as I take off.”

  “But you should come back down here to verify-”

  Suddenly Jonnie knew what Robert was up to. Robert the Fox was going to wait until all planes could converge on that drone. And that was taking a chance. The planes to other minesites might be in trouble themselves. “Sir Robert, are you trying to keep me from making a single-handed attack on that drone?”

  The veteran spread his hands. "Jonnie, laddie, you've done too much already to get yourself killed now!” His eyes were pleading.

  Jonnie swung up into the plane.

  “Then I’m coming with you!” said Robert the Fox.

  “You're going to stay right here and direct this assault!”

  A mine car ricocheted into the end of the ravine and came to a halt. The driver grabbed an assault rifle and ran up to the lines to get back into the battle. Glencannon stepped down and limped over to them. “Damn!” said Robert the Fox.

  “What's the matter?” said Glencannon, a bit taken aback with the greeting. "I’m all right. If somebody will tape up my ribs and put something around this ankle, I can fly.”

  Robert the Fox put an arm around Glencannon's shoulder. “It was something else,” he said. “I’m glad you got back alive. We've got a job for you. A lot of them, in fact. The snipers on the old Chinko quarters-”

  “Goodbye, Sir Robert,” Jonnie said and closed the door.

  “Good luck,” said Robert sadly. He knew Jonnie would suicide-crash the drone if everything else failed. He didn't expect to see him again. Then he turned and began to issue orders to two waiting runners. He had a little trouble seeing them.

  Jonnie sent the plane soaring out of the ravine, too fast to be spotted and hit, and was on his way to attempt something the combined military powers of Earth had failed to do. And on his way to do it all alone.

  Waiting until the drone was– what, five hours?– from Scotland was cutting it a bit close. If attacks on it did succeed they might blow gas canisters, and a freak wind could wipe out Scotland and Sweden as well. There was much to be said for attack in force. But even that guaranteed no success. And no one had ever tried a head-on smash at the drone with a Psychlo battle plane traveling at maximum with all guns blazing at the moment of collision. As a last resort, that would destroy almost anything. He hadn't said anything about it to Sir Robert. Surely the old man hadn't guessed it.

  Chapter 3

  Dunneldeen was a very happy man. The Cornwall compound of the British Isles was dead ahead, lit up like the one-time cities must have been.

  They had drawn straws for Cornwall. This was the minesite that sent out hunting parties and made it death for Scots to go south. The Psychlos at this place, over the centuries, had gunned down people beyond count just for sport on their days off. There was even a tale of a raiding party captured and tied to trees and shot tiny bit by tiny bit and man by man for eighteen agonizing days. And many tales like it.

  He and his copilot Dwight had drawn the long straw to the envy of their fellow pilots. They had drilled the navigation. No Scot had ever gotten within a hundred miles of this minesite in over a thousand years and little was actually known of it, but they had absorbed what there was.

  They had lain all night, quite relaxed, warmly dressed for stratosphere flying. They had heard the warning horns go for the final firing of the semiannual. They had piled into their seats, hands waiting at the consoles.

  Wide-eyed and thrilled, they had watched Jonnie's incredible sprint. Something had gone wrong as he reached the cage and that part wasn't so good. No rescue. But Jonnie had piled down under the edge of the bluff, safe as a wee bairn in his truckle bed before the blast rifles went.

  The recoil had been a bit disconcerting for it had slewed the plane out of position with concussion. But all was well. They had vaulted their plane into the sky on schedule. They had seen the planetwide radio towers collapse in a tangle of cables behind them, hit by both the concussion of recoil and bazooka fire. A twelve-hour radio silence had begun successfully. Ample time for the farthest minesite to be reached without any warning.

  At two thousand miles an hour, one hundred thousand feet up, they had shifted the clock and come down to normal Psychlo approach levels to a nighttime minesite. There it was!

  Scanners and viewscreens a light, they found no sign of hostile action, no guard planes in the air.

  Lighted steam was coming out of some shafts in the hills that must be five miles deep. Smelter chimneys belched curling, green smoke. Warehouses stood in bold outline. And there were the glowing domes of the compound! Target one.

  But Dunneldeen, being Dunneldeen, was quick to take advantage of sudden opportunities even when they were not quite specified in planning.

  The silly apes dow
n there lit up the whole landing area for him! It gleamed like a bloody stage. They thought he was simply some nonscheduled Psychlo flight. Bless radio silence.

  And Dunneldeen saw something else. Strung on massive power poles, coming down from the north, was their power supply. And right there, in the full glare of the landing area, was the obvious master pole. The freaks cared nothing about an aerial navigation menace. It was the master pole. The lines from the north came down into it. The local light cables all routed out from it to the buildings and compound. There was a big open space for landing and take-off in the middle of this spider's web.

  Right at the side of the landing stage was a huge wheel. Dunneldeen recognized it. The master wheel that, when spun, withdrew the master bus bar from the circuit.

  By Dunneldeen's opportunist mentality, it was simply too good to miss. Why let them have lots of light while they rushed about manning their defense weapons and trying to get out to their planes? Why not simply throw the whole thing into total chaos? And then go up and, with infrared screens, shoot the place to bits. Their own plane had a wave neutralizer, copied from one stolen from a ground car, and they could turn it on and those apes wouldn't know what to shoot at. Further, if this battle plane took off it would seem like it was a defense plane.

  Dunneldeen spoke rapidly to a startled but agreeable Dwight. Just as casually as though they were a visiting plane, they landed right beside the big wheel. Dunneldeen hitched the assault rifle strap over his shoulder, opened the door of the plane, stepped down, walked over to the bus bar wheel, and gave it its first spin.

  It all went okay just up to that point. But now a Psychlo in a little guardhouse they had not spotted, only ten feet from that bus bar, stepped out and stared at Dunneldeen.

  “The Tolneps!" screamed the guard.

  Before Dunneldeen could get the assault rifle into position the guard had closed the door and hit a siren. A bullhorn opened up enough to blast one's eardrums in. "Tolnep attack! All posts! Tolneps! Gun positions!”

  Regardless of what Tolneps might be, Dunneldeen spun the bus bar wheel so fast it screamed. He realized then why it was so close to the landing stage. They darkened the place for attack precautions. And had a guardhouse right handy to do it.

  Dunneldeen raced back to the plane. He dove in. Dwight's assault rifle opened up as guards boiled out of a stairwell. They dissolved into luminous green flashes.

  The battle plane soared. Dunneldeen threw on the wave neutralizer and infrared screens.

  They reverted to plan.

  With guns set to “No Flame, Maximum Concussion” they roared across the compound.

  The domes squashed like punctured balloons.

  They raced across the lines of warehouses and knocked their roofs flat.

  For good measure they made another pass, this time dropping nonradiation,

  antipersonnel bombs.

  One gun opened up at them and the plane took a jolt. They flashed down and squashed the gun with a single blast.

  And that was the end of the base. The Psychlo Intergalactic Mining Company did not believe in lavishing money on safety equipment in any department, apparently. And hadn't Jonnie said something about Terl calling in all the armaments from these bases?

  From what they could gather, standing by way up in the air, the creatures in the compound had been unable to get the masks on before the domes were smashed, for there certainly wasn't any mob coming out.

  They hung around for a while, occasionally knocking out an isolated vehicle and a stray guard.

  It really was quiet down there after that.

  Then they saw something on their radar screen. It was an incoming transport. Abruptly they recalled transport plane engines leaving after the incoming firing. This thing had been slow-poking its way home and they had passed it. Good!

  Dunneldeen, much to Dwight's dismay, landed beside the bus bar and turned it on.

  They just sat there. The landing lights were now on. Any Psychlo employee left alive was not concentrating on coming out.

  The transport plane landed. The Psychlos got out, fooled around with baggage. Then the pilot got out. The Psychlos walked in a mob toward the compound. Then they began to feel something was wrong and stopped.

  The Psychlo pilot reached for his belt gun.

  Dunneldeen and Dwight cut them down with assault rifles.

  Dunneldeen flew Dwight over to the fuel dump. They knew what fuel cartridge the transport took, for it was a duplicate of the plane that had brought Jonnie to Scotland. Dwight got the fuel cartridges. Dunneldeen brought him back to the transport plane. Dwight took the old cartridges out and put new ones in. Dunneldeen shot a guard car that had survived and came racing toward them. It blew up.

  Dunneldeen got into the air. Dwight flew the transport up. Dunneldeen shot the master power pole to bits in a fanfare of sparks and flashes.

  Seeing that Dwight was well clear, Dunneldeen flew to a point about ten feet above the breathe-gas dump. He dropped a low-yield, lead-shielded, time-fused radioactive mine on it.

  He soared up and the dump roared in a lovely green-blue flash.

  He again checked to see where Dwight had gotten to, saw he was safe. Dunneldeen soared to ten thousand feet, nosed the plane over, sighted, and fired at the explosives dump. It went up like a miniature volcano.

  Absolutely beautiful.

  He dropped back and verified that the compound had not exploded. This was part of their orders. The machinery and stored planes were apparently intact.

  With no atmosphere to breathe and no fuel to fly, with ninety percent of its personnel probably dead, the minesite in Cornwall was a write-off. That paid for a lot of crimes.

  Dunneldeen fell in beside the transport. “What's a Tolnep?" asked Dunneldeen. Dwight didn't know either, but Dunneldeen supposed he did look strange in a Chinko air mask and U.S. Air Force stratosphere flying gear.

  They had already agreed on a new and wonderful plan Dunneldeen had thought up. They had almost six hours of radio silence left. Orders complete and time on their hands.

  Dunneldeen was related to the Chief of Clanfearghus, and besides there was a lass he had not seen for nearly a year.

  They hoped the other fourteen minesite attack planes had done as well. Of course, perhaps not with the same style

  They headed for Scotland.

  Chapter 4

  Zzt had sunk into deep apathy.

  The gas drone roared on, deafening, cold, and dark.

  That silly dimwit Nup!

  Zzt had thought at first that the engine sounds he heard were just some rattles in this old relic, but after a while his trained ear could pick the sound out separately from the din in here. He listened in different parts of the cheerless drone and then at the flapping door. It was the Mark 32! The

  Mark 32, “Hit 'Em Low, Kill 'Em,” heavy armored, ground strafer. Nup was flying escort to the drone?

  Zzt had puzzled and puzzled on it and in fact had done little else. At first Zzt was all hope. He thought Nup had followed him out of the hangar intending to lower a ladder to the open door and snatch him out of here. But Nup seemed to be utterly unaware of the fact that there was an open door and was flying on the opposite side of the drone from it.

  True, Zzt had not briefed him at all. The busted lamp bulb had mostly been talking about Bolbods and rumors in Psychlo that they were the next target. What nonsense! Zzt went over it carefully. No, in the rush of trying to get out and at those attacking Tolneps with a ground strafer, he had simply raced around asking whether anyone had been checked out on a Mark 32 and had slammed Nup into the copilot seat and then had had to go attend to that drone.

  He dimly remembered his last words to Nup. They were, “Come on!” And he had been surprised when Nup hadn't run after him to the drone.

  Instead of mopping up the Tolneps, Nup was out there flying escort in a ground strafer. He might have been checked out but he certainly didn't know what it was for. Why, with that Mark 32 he could batter dow
n a whole city! And nothing could penetrate its hide. It was a support plane, a support plane for ground troops. No ground fire could touch it. No interceptor ships could even scratch its hide. And what was Nup doing with it? Riding escort to a drone that needed none.

  Zzt got bitter. Damn Terl and damn

  Nup!

  Then as the huge drone with its deafening engines rolled along to the devils-knew-what destination, Zzt began to realize that Nup didn't know he was aboard!

  A bit later, when he looked at his watch, Zzt realized that that Mark 32 was going to run out of fuel. Wherever they were in this dark night, that

  Mark 32 was a write-off. He hadn't put fuel in it for such a trip because he didn't have cartridges, and a Mark 32 had no great range anyway, being intended for local use.

  Well, Zzt had plenty of breathe-gas. He had a gun, he had a wrench.

  For a while he monkeyed around with the preset box armor, thinking he might be able to open it and change it. But without keys or the means to make them, not even a piece of blast artillery could open it. When they said “armored” they sure meant these damned old gas drones.

  So he had finally slumped down on the cold plates in the forward end of the ship and in apathy decided to last it out. In a day or two or three this thing would land. There was nothing in it to cushion anyone from the rough landings these made, but Zzt imagined he would survive it.

  Just sit and wait. That was all he could do.

  Damn Terl! Damn Nup! Damn the company!

  And all on half-pay and no bonuses.

  Chapter 5

  Jonnie was searching for the drone. Every viewscreen was flashing.

  Down below the cold Arctic spread out, visible in the screens, invisible to direct sight. He remembered it from his last trip across it. A forbidding array. Once down in it you were dead: if not from direct cold on an ice flow, then from immersion in those waters.