by J. F. Holmes
“CEF soldiers,” she said again, “less than half an hour ago, there was an attempted coup here, by the J-3, Colonel Curtis. He, along with a dozen other plotters, are now dead. I’m sorry to say that, during the attempt, Brigadier General Katherine McCauley lost her life. I was informed of the plot by Lieutenant General Dalpe, the Main Forces Commander, who stayed loyal to us when approached.”
She waited a moment, then continued onward. “I want you all to know, publicly, that General Warren, who you all know from the Battle of the Belt, has been found, and is now with us again. What you don’t know, and what will not be tolerated ever again, was that Warren was betrayed at a crucial moment of the battle by the very politicians and senior leadership that we had all put our faith in. When it was obvious we were overmatched in technology, Warren attempted to order a retreat to save the fleet, but he was overruled. I know that now, and you all know I should have more reason to hate him than anyone, but I don’t. With him in command, he will lead us to a final victory over the Invy.” Even as she finished, her voice trailed off in exhaustion, but it was drowned out by the storm of applause and cheers that echoed through the C2 section, and from the speakers.
“No, I will NOT do this!” he tried to protest, but the shouts and cheers drowned him out. David Warren turned and fled, leaving a bloody streak on the doorway where the rank had punctured his hand. Rachel Singh caught up with him at the end of the hallway, and stood in front of him. Warren was breathing heavily, repeating the word “No” under his breath, over and over.
“You,” she said angrily, “are going to go BACK in there, and use your goddamned talent, and whatever else you have, to execute Red Dawn and make sure it happens correctly. Do you understand?”
“I …. I can’t! It’s just like when the fleet sortied, everyone cheering … and they all died.”
She slapped him hard across the face, once, and then again. He raised his fist to her in shock, and struck out blindly. Singh easily avoided it and used his momentum to lever his arm behind his back and slam him up against the wall.
“You are going to go back in there,” she hissed in his ear, “and LEAD. Or else we are ALL dead. Do you hear me? If you EVER loved that woman, and you are even HALF the man she thinks you are, you will go back in there and give her hope before she dies! For the last ten years, she has given us EVERYTHING she had, and held us together!” Then she let him go and stepped back.
Warren said nothing for a long moment, slumped against the wall, but then slowly straightened. He said nothing to Singh, in fact ignored her, and started back to the command center.
Stepping inside, he said in a loud voice, “I’m sorry, everyone. It was all … a bit much for me. I’ve been away for a long while. I want a conference in one hour, with full details on Red Dawn.” Then, bending over, he held Kira Arkady’s hand, feeling the paper-thin skin and wasted muscles.
“Kira,” he whispered to her, “let’s win.” Then he looked Colonel Singh straight in the eye, and smiled.
___________________________________________
The conference room was paneled in fake wood, and the inevitable PowerPoint slides were waiting on the end of the table.
“First thing, turn that shit off,” said Warren. He was now wearing a full set of CEF camo, with the five-star insignia subdued at his collar. The young Captain who had been about to start the slide show hurriedly gave the voice command, and the screen flickered off.
Warren had spent most of the last hour ported into the base semi-AI, getting a complete download of the current CEF forces disposition and personnel, as well as updates on Invy tech. As he flicked through the information in his mind, he was amazed at how unaware of things he had actually been while he was supposedly “in command.”
Operation Moria had been, he learned, one of the most massive undertakings in world history, and it still hadn’t been enough. Underground bases had been constructed for ground, air and naval forces, in strategic locations, and stocked with enough supplies to last more than two decades. Ansible connections, those rare and incredibly expensive quantum communicators, had been located at each of the major defense commands, all tied into the network at Cheyenne Mountain. Personnel had been sequestered even before the fighting began.
Warren had known nothing of this; all expenditures, he had thought, had gone to the fleet of sub-light battleships and carriers that had been built at ruinous expense at the L5 point between Earth and the Moon. Apparently not, he mused. This must have cost trillions of dollars.
He thought hard, and a map of the still active bases appeared to hover in front of him. Less than a dozen, not counting the Navy bases that he had already heard about. Raven Rock was the largest in North America, and there was only one other functional base on the continent, high in the Canadian Rockies. Between the two, there was a full division of armored vehicles, many retrofitted with upgrades developed from the captured Invy scout technology. In addition, there were the remnants of a full air group of F-15s, F-16s, F-22s, and even some old A-10s. Raven Rock held more than thirty, but how many would fly, no one knew.
Most of the surviving installations were in the same situation, or even worse. Only three, Raven Rock, Vilyuchinsk, and Tierra del Fuego still had ansible connections, and the South American base was strategically useless. Messages were relayed through the whales or via torturous trips overland.
The problem, he immediately saw, was personnel. There was less than ten percent of the men and women needed to operate the planes, and most were maintenance, caretakers for the pilots who had been lost trying to battle the Invy forces in the initial ground invasion. The armored vehicle situation was both worse, and better. Few base personnel were actual tankers or infantry; but the Main Force units regularly studied how to operate them. In a pinch, they could be called on to crew them. The other problem, though, was that the armor was hundreds of miles away from the largest concentrations of the Invy, and few had been refitted for fusion power. Most still ran on almost non-existent petroleum products.
“None of this matters if we don’t take the high ground,” he said out loud.
Lt. General Dalpe, an incredibly fit man in his late fifties, nodded. “You see the problem. We probably have enough strength, between the bases and the Main Force units, to wage a pretty effective campaign against Invy ground forces. The problem is, as always, who holds the high ground, and right now, that’s the orbitals.”
“And whatever of their fleet is still in orbit,” added Warren. “Do we have any idea? Didn’t we take a prisoner recently?”
Uncomfortable glances were exchanged, until finally a civilian spoke up. His name and position floated in the air over his head, in Warren’s vision. Doctor David Johnstone, PhD in particle physics, class of ’23 from MIT. His crisp British accent overlaid the hesitancy in his voice.
“We, uh, we did, Sir. But evidently no one told our interrogator to ask such a question. Apparently the Dragon in custody passed away before that could be rectified.”
“What idiot forgets to ask a question like that?” exploded Dalpe.
“Apparently my colleague Doctor Morano. I’d hardly call her an idiot, General. Actually, I’d be careful of calling her an idiot. To her face, anyway.”
“What’s done is done,” said Warren. “I want a complete brief on this plan by each of the service heads, and then we’re going to sharp shoot the shit out of it. Then I’m going to see how General Arkady is doing.”
In the back of the conference room, unnoticed as opposed to unseen, Master Sergeant Agostine leaned over and whispered to Colonel Singh, “Is that the same guy who had a spine like jelly a few weeks ago?”
“His spine wasn’t jelly, Nick. He just lost his heart, and now he’s found it again. It’s amazing what a man will do to prove himself to someone he loves.”
Chapter 30
The meeting continued far into the night, with a review of forces, individual plans of attack, and hashing out details. In the bleary hours of pre-dawn, Warren
called an end to the brainstorming and asked the new J-3, Lt. Colonel Marsh, to back brief a summary of the plan.
“Sir, at H minus 00:10, the combined submarine fleet will launch interceptor and laser attack on Invy Stations One and Four, with the intent to destroy them or neutralize their offensive capabilities. Their launch point is here, approximately five hundred miles southeast of Japan, and here, three hundred miles off the coast of North Carolina.”
Warren interrupted the Colonel with a raised hand, and turned to an Air Force officer seated at the other end of the table. “Major Hollister, can you explain the why behind this?”
“I could, Sir, but it might make some of these knuckle draggers heads explode,” she answered, and there was a tired chuckle around the table. She stood and brought up a diagram on the holo, showing Earth with four equidistant points in rotation around it.
“Basically, each station acts as the eyes of the one following it, once it gets past a certain point. In essence, it’s difficult to fire a rod backwards from orbit, since they aren’t geostationary.”
“She said rod,” muttered Jones at the back of the room.
“Why are you here again?” whispered Reynolds, elbowing him hard in the stomach. The Scouts had been assigned as bodyguards to Warren, and annoyingly followed him almost everywhere over the last day.
“So if a station has passed over where we are attacking, they pass the actual retaliatory mission back to the next approaching station. One passes over a particular point in the Northern Hemisphere every twenty-two minutes. By blinding Station Four, and nuking the shit out of Station One, we hope to give you roughly forty minutes to complete your objectives.”
“Thank you, Captain, for breaking it down. Commander Yu?” he said, turning to the Naval Liaison officer.
“Once at Yankee Station, at the given time, five American submarines will fire off their entire compliment of Surface to Space missiles, armed with proximity burst nukes and bomb pumped x-ray lasers. The remaining US sub will be launching cruise missiles with tactical nukes at the Invy viral labs located at the former Saigon. The two Russian submarines will be off the Eastern seaboard of the US, hitting Station Four with high capacity lasers to damage antenna, optics, and any other surveillance equipment we can.”
“Why don’t they just use the lasers to shoot down the station?” asked General Dalpe.
Commander Yu answered instantly. “There just isn’t enough juice on the subs to power a laser that big, and an unstable platform, atmospheric diffusion, velocity of the station, other things all add up to make it extremely difficult to even hit the target.”
“Plus they have maybe ten minutes to attack before the Invy scramble fighters out of Miami,” said Captain Hollister. “We’re going to provide air cover, but without tankers, it will be at extreme range, and we only have eleven birds here that can get off the ground. Four F-22s, five F-16s, and two F-15s. Every single F-35 is grounded because of code bugs. Can’t even start the damn things. The Invy have a dozen of their trans-atmospheric fighters stationed there. They’re probably complacent from having no targets for almost ten years, but as soon as the first laser hits, sure as shit those Dragon pilots and their Octos are going to be zipping across the runway.”
“Better and better,” muttered Warren.
“I can help with that,” said Singh. “Scout Team Five will be able to cover that runway with sniper teams. We should be able to get two or three before the base defenses hit back.”
Everyone in the room fell silent, realizing that Colonel Singh had just signed a death warrant for one of her teams.
“Listen to me, everyone,” said Warren, the hard tone in his voice that had been developing over the past day growing even harder. “People are going to die. Most of us are going to die doing this, but, from what I’ve seen, it’s our only chance. Our hardware is getting old. We’re getting old!” he said, hammering his hand down on the table for emphasis.
“I’ve lived out there,” he continued. “I watched a neighbor’s baby get eaten alive by Wolverines because they violated a stupid law. My nephew,” and he paused for a second, “my nephew attacked an Invy patrol with just one friend and some shitty ass rifles, and lost his life doing so. Jeremy was a better man than I, and braver than any of us.”
He looked each of the officers and senior NCOs in the eye, going around the room. “Make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen, this is IT. We either do this now, or we’re done for as a free people, and probably as a species altogether. Do you understand?”
Warren didn’t wait for their answer, just turned to the Main Force commander and said, “Bob, continue with the ground attack plan.”
General Dalpe stood up, and launched into his plan. “Prior to H hour, all Main Force units will infiltrate to within five miles of their objectives, which are the Main Invy regional bases in North America.” He brought up a map on the holo, and showed the locations. There were more than a dozen, spaced evenly around the country.
“Each base contains several hundred Wolverines, Armored Personnel Carriers in Company Strength, and a combined Air Intercept/Ground Attack Squadron. We expect to be able to commit, on average, five hundred troops per base, but it’s a sucker punch, really. They’re going to hit, and then withdraw as soon as the remaining orbital broaches the horizon. The main objective is actually here,” and a point on the map lit up, outside where Washington, DC had been located.
“It’s closest to Raven Rock, and has a squadron of heavy lift transports that are used to shuttle personnel between ground and the Orbital Stations. Our intention is to seize these shuttles and use them to attack and board the remaining three orbitals, to gain the high ground. Colonel Singh’s people will be leading that attack, with an infiltration the night before. The same will be happening in Scotland and Russia.”
“Oh shit!’ exclaimed Jones loudly, and Reynolds groaned.
“Sir,” said Singh to Warren, “please excuse my soldier’s enthusiasm for the mission,” all the whole shooting Jones a dirty look. In response, he activated his camo and disappeared into the background.
Warren actually laughed, and said, “I understand his reaction, Colonel, because all of us are going to be in on this attack. If it fails, every one of our bases is going to be pounded into dust.”
Chapter 31
David Warren returned to his quarters after stopping by the infirmary to see Kira. The discussion they had had couldn’t be called an argument; she was too weak for that.
“Kira, this plan, it’s insane. It’s never going to work. Every single missile is going to get shot down before it hits that station.”
“I know,” she answered quietly. Whereas the day before she had seemed a tower of strength, twenty-four hours later, the General seemed a withered shell of her former self. His implant gave him access to her vitals through the base wireless, and although he wasn’t a doctor, even he could see the red flashing numbers that hovered over her.
“David, I know the plan sucks, but it’s all we have left. I have faith in you that you can do this. You always were the best, you know.”
“I was then. I don’t know about now. One thing that bothers me, Kira, is this. What happens AFTER? How the hell are we going to rebuild our civilization? What happens when they come back, even if we kick them off Earth?”
She smiled gently, making his heart beat faster, and said, “That won’t matter to me, will it?”
“How can I do this without you?” he asked her, squeezing her hand harder than he intended to. Unbidden tears rolled silently down his face.
She ignored the pressure, and squeezed back. “You have good, competent people around you, Dave. Especially Colonel Singh, and I think she likes you more than she lets on. We women know these things. Still,” she sighed, her breath a harsh whisper in her throat, “it was good to see you again, before I went.”
“I’ve always loved you, Beautiful Girl. There was never anyone else,” he whispered.
She smiled, and said, “Idiot
. Of course there wasn’t.”
With that, she had slipped back into sleep, her hand falling out of his. A stern-faced nurse came in and pushed him out of the room with a barked command, his rank notwithstanding.
Warren himself was exhausted after the all-night planning session, but now, in his room, he couldn’t sleep. The events of the last month swam before him, and the responsibility he bore weighed down on him again. He didn’t see how what they were doing was anything but a very long shot. Red Dawn was set to happen by the end of October, in three months, which was bad timing in his opinion. Better to attack when it was hot out, to confuse scanners and make the Wolverines less effective. He couldn’t change the date, though. Too much had already gone into planning.
The other thing nagging him was the drone insects he had seen. He knew that they wouldn’t approach his quarters; a scrambler field, designed to prevent, well, bugs, would fry any limited AI they would have. Down by the prison cells was a different matter, but here, no. There was really only one thing for him to do.
He gently opened the door and called for PFC Reynolds, who was standing guard outside his door. “Tiffany, can you do me a favor? Colonel Marsh has some hardcopy files I want to review. Please go down to the Ops Center and get them, will you? I’ll be asleep when you get back, so just slip them under the door.”
The scout eyed him shrewdly, but Warren just looked back at her with some impatience. “Now, PFC,” he said, emphasizing her rank. He had come a very long way from the man who sat paralyzed as his home was destroyed. She nodded and walked off down the corridor. Though tempted to watch her get in the elevator, he shut the door and quickly started packing.
Taking off the uniform, he dragged a bundle of his civilian clothes out from a locker under the bed, exchanging all but the boots. Placing his 10mm issued sidearm on his belt, he pulled on a hoodie, covering the pistol. While he dressed, he called up schematics of the facility in his implant, looking for the best way out.
