One Good Soldier s-3

by Travis S. Taylor

  "Guns, guns, guns!" Fish's railgun cannon tracers cut in across space in front of the transfigured Seppy Gnat and tracked its trajectory until it flew right through the forty-millimeter cannon rounds. The enemy fighter was ripped to shreds by a fusillade of baseball-sized, high-incendiary, armor-piercing tracer rounds, scattering debris and gas vapors from it.

  "Guns, guns, guns!" Dragon followed up.

  "Guns, guns, guns!" Stinky shouted.

  "All wings, all wings! Be advised that the Gnats have a bot-mode! I repeat, the Seppy Gnats have a bot mode now!" Fish communicated wide, with full dispersion across all the flight-wing channels. She guessed that several others had to have seen the same by now and wondered why nobody had called it in.

  "Fish, Fish, Madira!"

  "Go, Madira!" Fish replied.

  "We need air support dirtside! It's thick down there."

  "Roger that, Madira. It's thick all goddamned over."

  Chapter 21

  July 1, 2394 AD

  Sol System, White House

  Friday, 3:26 PM, Earth Eastern Standard Time

  "Yes, Mr. President, it would appear that the fleet ships in the Ross 128 system are severely outnumbered," the young courier officer said over the holoview communication from onboard the QMT facility out in the Oort. "The final information is encoded, and I was told by the admiral himself that you would understand this message. The message is, quote, Operation Bachelor Party is in play and has visual confirmation of missing package. Missing package is on enemy supercarrier that QMTed out that DeathRay pursued. DeathRay also confirmed via sensors that missing package was aboard said enemy supercarrier-class vessel just before he vanished with it."

  Alexander Moore and his wife stood in front of the long mahogany conference table in the White House Situation Room, watching the holoview communication intently. The Situation Room had basically the same décor that President John Fitzgerald Kennedy had added back in the mid-twentieth century after the Bay of Pigs incident. President Moore stood grimacing with his arms folded at the head of the room where more than ninety-six other presidents had stood and pondered the heavy decisions of their time. As if the weight of the office bearing fully on his shoulders wasn't enough, now the fate of his teenage daughter was wrapped up in the decisions he would have to make. Was there some approach that his predecessors had used or some profound thought that had kept them on the right path that he could emulate? He wondered if other presidents thought the same things as they had stood there over the last couple of centuries.

  How had President Alberts felt when he learned that the Separatists were attacking Mons City on Mars just twelve years earlier? How Nixon must have paced the room during the bombings of Hanoi. What of the "Great Communicator" President Reagan during the many Cold War incidents with the Soviet Union? What of the father and son Bushes during their respective wars in the Middle East? How had they felt? How had William Jefferson Clinton handled the stress of dealing with the fighting in old Africa? How did the several presidents that followed during the Global War of Muslim Extremism deal with those troubles? And how had the many presidents to follow the "Great Expansion" of humanity handled their various "situations" of slow economies, overpopulation, civil unrest between colonies throughout the Sol System, and political infighting for territorial control? Alexander thought about the great men and women of history that must have stood in the very spot he was standing, thinking what he was thinking. He thought of how the great general and—Alexander laughed to himself at the thought—President Sienna Madira handled the Separatist Secession and the creation of the Reservation in the desert of the red planet. That crazy bitch probably had it all planned even back then, he thought. He wouldn't be surprised if she had caused it to happen to put her plans into motion.

  The one thing those presidents didn't have to deal with was the fact that their daughter had been kidnapped by the leader of the enemy forces. And the leader of those enemy forces wasn't the estranged mother of the First Spouse. This goddamned mess has to fucking end, he thought to himself.

  Yes, sir, his AIC agreed.

  "Are you sure that Captain Boland made it through the QMT jump to the other side?" Sehera asked the courier.

  "Yes, ma'am. There was no sensor evidence of his fighter on this side of the jump."

  "Only one place they could have gone, Mr. President," the secretary of defense said. "Tau Ceti."

  "Yes, I agree." Moore ground his molars together so hard that it was audible. There was no way to know if his daughter was safe or not. That thought made veins bulge out and throb with each heartbeat. At least Boland and, amazingly, that CIA agent that had been presumed dead since the Luna City attack were there trying to get to her. But that just wasn't enough for Alexander. His face was red with the fiercest anger that he had felt in more than forty years.

  "Alexander." Sehera put a hand on his shoulder and spoke calmly to him. "What do you think you are going to do?" Alexander could tell by the tone of her voice that she was being rhetorical.

  "Thank you, Lieutenant, for this report. Send word back to the Madira that they absolutely must, and I mean must, carry this day to victory at Ross 128. We're going to send forward four more ships to help out. The Blair and the rest of the fleet are going to Tau Ceti to take that planet back. Lieutenant, you must tell Admiral Jefferson to expect no more help today and that he must under all costs be victorious. Good luck and Godspeed, son."

  "Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. President." The Navy lieutenant saluted, and Moore promptly and sharply returned it.

  "Alexander?" Sehera said again, not letting go of his shoulder. "What are you planning to do?"

  "Thomas!" Moore turned to his bodyguard, former AEM and longtime trusted friend. The man stood near the exit, blending into the woodwork.

  "Yes, sir, Mr. President." The Secret Service agent stepped forward.

  "Get Mr. Kudaf and our suits and be prepared to move out in ten minutes. Have Air Force One ready to teleport us up with jaunt coordinates prepared for the Mars QMT gate."

  "Uh, Mr. President," Thomas started to respond, but Moore cut him off quickly.

  "No discussion." Moore looked at Sehera and his bodyguard with that look that told them both that there was nothing they could do or say that was going to change his mind, so, they had just better get onboard and do what they could to help out.

  "Mr. President?" the chairman of the Joint Chiefs interjected. "I'm not sure what you're planning, sir, but I don't think you should actually be in the middle of it. It would put you at serious risk, sir."

  "Well, I am going. And that is that. Get the vice president in the White House in the event a transition needs to be made. Pick four supercarriers, get them loaded for war, and detach them immediately to the Ross 128 system. I want them QMTing in less than twenty minutes. Get Admiral, uh . . ." Moore was briefly at a loss. "Get the CO of the Blair to develop a battle plan to attack and hold the Tau Ceti system with the remaining fleet."

  Rear Admiral Lower Half Sharon Walker, sir, Abigail told him DTM.

  Thanks, Abby.

  "Walker. Admiral Walker," he added out loud.

  "Yes, Mr. President, but I'm not sure why you think you must go, sir. Mr. President, we've got Special Forces troops trained to—" The national security advisor, Frank Puckett, was cut off by Moore abruptly slamming his fists on the table.

  "No, no, no!" He hit the table again. "Because, Frank, it is my daughter out there, and I'm going to by God go out there and bring her the fuck home!" Moore glared at the senior White House advisors and staff and his wife, daring them to defy him on this. If he had to, he'd get up on the table and kick all their asses right there. He'd put on an e-suit and go take over a ship himself and jump it there. He'd take on the entire goddamned universe if he had to, but he was going to help his daughter!

  "Then I'm coming, too," Sehera added. "If you're going, I'm going."

  Moore started to object, but he could tell from the look on her face that his objection would
be duly noted and overruled. So he didn't respond. Instead, he turned to his staff.

  "All right, make this happen." He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. "I have grown so tired of dealing with these Separatists with the goddamned kid gloves on. I've tried being diplomatic, and every single time to no avail, no matter the approach. These people are waging warfare against our everyday way of life, and we have become so politically correct and bureaucratically corrupt that we can't seem to understand that we are standing in the middle of the goddamned forest staring at the bark on a fucking tree! I am so sick of seeing one good soldier after another killed in the endless skirmishes that are mainly the cause of one person. One crazy, evil person has used our own sedentary, benign, and I dare say, passive political personalities against us in such a way that we will not admit the obvious. WE ARE AT WAR! We have been at war for more than five decades. We have been at war ever since Elle Ahmi donned her ugly ski mask for the first time. Ever since I was tortured by that whack job in the Martian desert, we have been at war. Ever since she killed or had killed my entire platoon, we have been at war. Ever since she had tens and tens of thousands killed on Mars twelve years ago and ever since the Battle for the Oort QMT facility and the attack on Orlando, we have been at war. How many more good soldiers, America's finest, must we send to the grave because of our inability to accept the obvious? No, sir!" Alexander slammed his fists against the table again, jarring it to the point that coffee mugs jumped and pencils rolled onto the floor.

  "No longer can I stomach this on my watch!" Moore hadn't felt free to do the right thing in so long that the emotions were flooding over him. The time had come to finally take care of business. "I, for one, am a soldier, and have always been a soldier, and it is time I stand up for what I believe in like a soldier and elections be goddamned! This is the last day that I will see the endless waste of the lives of one good soldier after the next. No, this will be the end of an old era. Possibly the end of my administration, but I don't give a damn. I'm going in there to get my daughter out and once and for all we will end this goddamned Separatist nonsense today! I'm issuing an executive order right now that the Separatist movement is to be eradicated from existence!"

  When he finished his speech, the room was dead silent. He glowered around the room a couple of long, awkward moments. There were smiles on the faces of two of the Joint Chiefs and of the NSA. The others were more insider politicians and were horrified by the impact Moore's actions would have on the party and their careers. Alexander didn't give a flying fuck. It was time somebody did something that was best for the country and for humanity. He turned and marched out of the Situation Room with Sehera at his side matching him stride for stride. He didn't bother to ask the opinions of his Beltway advisors. He didn't need or want their approvals anyway.

  "What do you think you are doing, Alexander?" Sehera asked him.

  "I'm gonna end something that I should have ended forty goddamned years ago," he said.

  Oorah! Sir! Abigail agreed with him. I'm glad to see Major Moore back in action, sir.

  Fuck that. I'm promoting myself to general.

  Chapter 22

  July 1, 2394 ADRoss 128, Arcadia, 10 kilometers south of the capital city of MegalopolisFriday, 3:26 PM, Earth Eastern Standard Time

  The capital city of Arcadia was known as Megalopolis, with all the ancient Earth historical references intended. The governor's mansion sat on a hill in the middle of Capitol Park. The park was actually a forest reserve. The mansion was the only building in any direction for twenty kilometers, and surrounding it was a dense hardwood forest reminiscent of the oak trees that grow in the Appalachian Mountains of North America. There were three small rivers that met just south of the mansion, and there was ample Arcadian, as well as imported, wildlife living in the park.

  Capitol Park was surrounded by four districts known only as Capitol North, Capitol South, Capitol East, and Capitol West. Capitol North was mainly a business and political district. Capitols East and West were manufacturing districts. Capitol South was the analog of the defense industrial complex district. A government building designed in honor of the Pentagon housed the leaders of the planet's Armored E-suit National Guard. Just to the west of the Capitol Pentagon was the armory for the National Guard as well as several airstrips and hangars. The planet had a small air force, but the ground forces were quite impressive.

  Smaller city suburbs tied the four main cities together in a giant ring of humanity, pavement, steel, and streetlamps over forty kilometers in diameter. The local natural vegetation still covered the region where there were no obvious signs of civilization. In essence, Megalopolis was a giant ringed city about ten kilometers in width surrounded both within and without by wild natural forest land. There were roads that led into the governor's mansion from each of the four main extensions, making the city look like a giant wheel with four spokes when viewed from space. The three rivers running through the forest were mostly straight and formed a Y shape with the intersection on the south-sided lawn of the mansion. The legs of the Y met the outer ring at the five, one, and nine o'clock positions. The rivers added three offset spokes to the wheel of Capitol Park and the Capitol Districts.

  Colonel Mason "Warlord One" Warboys had been, just seconds before, on the QMT asteroid forty thousand kilometers straight up, looking up at four supercarriers of the U.S. Navy fleet being pounded on by several enemy battleships. The U.S. fleet ships were heavily outnumbered, and things didn't look too good for them at the time. He was ordered to prepare for immediate teleport. Rather than tac-nuking the capital city and risking large numbers of casualties, the plan was to drop ground and air forces to take back Arcadia. After all, President Moore had promised to minimize civilian casualties.

  So Warboys prepared himself as best he could. He loaded as many of Colonel Ramy Roberts's Robots AEMs onto the surface of his tank as would fit and then told them to hold the fuck on. For a brief instant he thought he saw a flash of the inside of a supercarrier tank bay. Then the next thing he knew he was in the middle of a forest staring at about fifty enemy tanks and a line of Arcadian armored ground forces only two kilometers away. The enemy troops detected his presence almost instantly and started firing on his position. Small caliber railgun rounds and larger caliber armor-piercing rounds with tracers filled the air all around him.

  "Holy shit! Roberts, get off my mecha!" Warlord One shouted over the open tac-net to the AEMs. The armored e-suit marines dove for cover almost as soon as they materialized from the QMT teleport.

  "Move it, Marines!" Warboys recognized First Sergeant Tamara McCandless's voice. His DTM view showed the blue dots scrambling for cover behind trees and rocks. The trees didn't seem to be helping the AEMs that much, as the larger rounds passed through them like a knife through hot butter. The anti-mecha rounds from the enemy guns plowed through a ninety-year-old oak tree just to Warlord One's right like it was nothing more than balsa wood. The oaks splintered into millions of pieces as the forty-millimeter railgun rounds punched through them, leaving a splintered half-meter diameter trunk sticking up some three meters off the ground and another twenty meters of splintered tree raining down around him. Flames poured off both pieces of the tree, adding to the already hectic situation.

  "Look out, Cross, that goddamned tree is gonna fall on top of your ass!" one of the AEMs shouted.

  "Marines! Take cover and I'll see if I can draw some fire away from you," Colonel Warboys said. His heavy armor plating and SIFs gave him a much better chance of survival in the hailstorm of armor-piercing death than the AEMs. Their suits were tough, but not designed to take on anti-mecha armor-piercing rounds like a hovertank was.

  "Roger that, Warlord One! AEMs are digging in!" Colonel Roberts replied.

  Warboys throttled his mecha up and moved the tank-mode metal through the trees as best he could, trying to perform some sort of evasive maneuvers. He took several low-caliber railgun rounds in the process. The rounds simply twanged against his tank, throw
ing sparks and ionized metal. The larger anti-mecha fire tracked onto him, which encouraged Mason to be more abrupt in his evasive maneuvers. The vegetation was so thick, however, that tank-mode wasn't very effective. He couldn't move around through the trees fast enough as a hovertank to avoid getting hammered by those large-caliber guns. His other choice while in tank mode would be to just ram the trees over, but that would seriously slow him down, cause unnecessary hazards to himself and the AEMs, and give him a serious headache after a couple trees. Warboys toggled his mode controls over to bot, and the tank flipped up and transfigured itself into a bipedal metal behemoth with a giant DEG barrel for a nose. The main railgun cannons of the mecha moved into position on the forearms of the standing armored bot.

  Just off to the colonel's left and right two more tanks appeared out of QMT, each of them loaded with marines. A few seconds later, several more tanks popped in, loaded with either marines or Army infantry. The enemy line ahead of them was opening up with full force. There were almost enough U.S. troops teleported in to create an offensive line. Almost.