Stark’s Crusade

by John G. Hemry

  “Ah, well, the specifications indicated reprogramming was also desired, but since we know nothing of the hardware or software to be used in the original programming, we cannot build enough options into the nanobots to achieve that function.”

  “But the nanobots will stop a robotic combatant?”

  “Certainly. They will seek out command junctions and interrupt control signal flow. Simple jamming seemed the most reliable concept to pursue, though there is a backup short-out of power relays function which will also be employed.” Doctor Gafton peered around as if trying to assess whether his words were understood. “In basic terms, the robots will suffer the equivalent effects of a human exposed to a nerve agent such as sarin.”

  Manley leaned forward. “How can you be sure they’ll work?”

  “There is no guarantee of success, pending the outcome of experimental trials. There are a number of variables we must deal with. The degree of shielding of command junctions, the power of command signals which are to be blocked, the presence or absence of defensive nanobots designed to stop or repair internal sabotage—” Gafton stopped in mid-sentence, his expression thoughtful. “Mind you, defensive nanobot systems have not been utilized prior to this time, so we have no reason to expect their presence. This nonetheless represents an uncontrolled variable.”

  “So we can’t be sure they’ll work until we use them?”

  “Ah… yes. Unless you can acquire a working model of the targeted robotic entity to conduct tests upon, that is correct.”

  “Great.” Stark didn’t have to exaggerate the level of praise in his voice. “Not perfect. I wish we could try them out beforehand, but that’ll give us a real leg up on these Jabberwocks.” He looked first at Yurivan and then back at Gafton. “But how exactly does this help solve our mutiny?”

  Gafton blinked once more. “I was asked if the nanobots and delivery device could be modified to deliver a disabling function to a standard military battle armor system. The modifications were fairly simple.”

  It took a moment for the implications to sink in, then Stark grinned. “We’ve got a way to insert worms into battle armor?”

  “Worms?” Gafton questioned. “The slang term refers to destructive software. The disabling function in question will be achieved by nanobots taking all movement, weapons, and communication systems into inoperable status.”

  “Damn.” Stark smiled at Yurivan. “Stacey, I’m glad you’re on our side. Can I equip people with these delivery systems right now?”

  Gafton shook his head once. “No, not now. Twenty-four hours. In twenty-four hours, plus or minus four hours to allow for unexpected developments, I can provide you with approximately two thousand individual delivery devices manufactured according to the custom specifications for shoulder-employed antipersonnel launch mechanisms.”

  Stark glared at the doctor for a moment, then shifted his gaze to Sergeant Gordasa. “That sounds like Supply talk. What’s he mean?”

  “Bullets,” Gordasa explained. “He’s talking two thousand rifle rounds.”

  Gafton nodded twice. “That is what I said.”

  “Two thousand.” Stark pondered the number for a moment. “That’s enough to load the magazines of maybe a company of loyal troops. I’ll find one and—”

  “You’ve got one,” Stacey advised. She was clearly enjoying herself immensely.

  “Thanks, but I’ll want to evaluate—”

  “You’ll like this particular company. Trust me.”

  Stark nodded, trying to keep his feelings from showing. Great. Vic’s a hostage, so I have to place my trust in the likes of Stacey Yurivan. I sure hope I’m doing the right thing.

  A few hours later, Sergeant Sanchez saluted Stark, his face as composed and emotionless as ever. “It is good to see you again, Commander Stark.”

  “Knock it off, Sanch. We’re old buddies. You don’t need to be formal with me. Your company really volunteered to go in with me?”

  “I could not have stopped them,” Sanchez assured Stark. Something that might have been a smile flickered on the edges of his mouth, then vanished.

  “I bet not. Hell, Sanch, it seems like yesterday that you and me and Vic were all squad leaders in the same platoon. But it also seems like forever. I hated leaving my own squad. I’d led those apes for years.”

  “It was you who triggered the mutiny which deposed the officers in our division,” Sanchez reminded him. “Had you not done that, the senior enlisted would never have had the opportunity to elect you to command the entire force.”

  “I guess with Vic Reynolds being held hostage you get to be the one to remind me of past screw-ups that I’m still paying for, huh? I tell you, Sanch, there’s times I wish it’d never happened.”

  A too-brief-to-be-readable expression flickered across Sanchez’s face. “I am certain there are many in Third Division, those saved by your actions, who feel differently.”

  “I sure hope so. You’re leading the company in with me, then?”

  “Unfortunately, no. I must grant that duty to its appropriate holder, the current company commander.”

  Stark tried not to show disappointment. That’s right. Sanchez got bumped up to battalion commander. I oughta know who the company commander is, blast it. “Who is that now, Sanch? Anybody I know?” He’d known everyone in the unit, once, but there’d been battles since then, and a few replacements.

  Another flicker of a possible smile. Sanchez had grown a lot more expressive in the last several months. “I believe so.” He turned slightly, waving someone forward. “You remember Lieutenant Conroy?”

  Conroy saluted Stark smartly. “Good afternoon, Commander Stark.”

  Stark returned the gesture, fighting down a smile of his own. “You got the whole company now, huh, Lieutenant? How’s it going?”

  “Not bad. A little testing and pressure at first. A few soldiers were surprised to see me.”

  “I bet. I sure never expected any of our old officers to volunteer to stay up here, under my command.”

  “There weren’t exactly a lot of us. Sixteen total, if I recall.”

  “Sixteen’s a lot,” Stark noted, “when you consider it meant working for me and guaranteeing a court-martial if we lose. But I was grateful you stayed. We needed some good officers around to remind people how important you are. When you’re doing your jobs right, that is. So the troops haven’t given you too much trouble?”

  “There were some interesting moments. I just had to remind them I was still an officer. We get along fine, now.”

  Stark nodded, thinking of how tough some of those moments might have been from enlisted personnel with healthy heads of resentment against an officer corps that had usually been concerned with promotion instead of leadership. “Well, Lieutenant, you know the situation. I guess you’ve got to rescue me again.”

  “The last time I did that they took my platoon away and made me a desk jockey.” Stark had stayed behind after a risky raid, acting as a rear guard to enable the platoon to escape. Conroy’s participation in an unauthorized relief operation to save Stark’s life had earned her the enmity of superiors who weren’t interested in risking expensive equipment to save one pain-in-the-neck sergeant. “But things are a little different this time,” Conroy noted. “I think you’ll be happy with the new commander of your old platoon. I’m sure you remember Corporal Gomez.”

  “Cor—?” Stark broke off his exclamation. I’ll be damned. Anita Gomez, commanding a platoon. Best corporal I ever had. Bet she keeps those apes sharp. “How’d you talk her into that?”

  “I didn’t. She volunteered. Maybe she’ll tell you why. When’s the operation going down?”

  Stark gestured the two to seats, then paced back and forth. “We need the special rounds for our rifles, first. These are non-lethal rounds. They’ll disable the battle armor of anyone shot with them.” Neither Conroy nor Sanchez could hide their curiosity. “The special rounds shoot nanobots into the armor, and the nanobots break stuff inside. But they�
�re still manufacturing the rounds for us. After the special ammo is ready, we’ll mount the op during the next available downtime. Meal, sleep, whatever. I’m worried about hostages, and I’m worried these mutineers might get desperate and start shooting at us.”

  Two nods as Stark continued. “We’re facing about two companies’ worth of soldiers total. That’s bad odds for an attack, but they’ll be spread out and hopefully won’t have any clue about the special rounds we’ll be firing.”

  “A single hit anywhere should disable the soldier?” Conroy asked.

  “Right. The barracks has a standard layout. There’s three main entrances; two for personnel access and one heavy cargo dock. I’ll lead one platoon in the primary entry, and the other two platoons will take the other two.” He saw the disapproval register instantly on their faces. “Yeah, I know. I’m not supposed to be leading a combat op, and that’s what this might be if the mutineers start throwing live rounds back at us. But if I’m walking in from the front, maybe they’ll surrender without shooting at all. I figure the risk is worth the chance to end the mutiny without bloodshed on either side.”

  “Your rationale seems solid,” Sanchez noted, “but Sergeant Reynolds will still give you hell for it when the operation is over.”

  “No doubt. Any other questions?”

  Conroy sighed. “I guess I should lead one of the other platoons in the same way. Seeing a lieutenant apparently walking calmly toward them might cause some serious hesitation on the part of the mutineers. Maybe enough to get past their barricade without shooting.”

  Sanchez managed a temporary questioning look. “Calmly, Lieutenant Conroy? You will be walking calmly?”

  “I said apparently calmly. Besides, you know the Infantry School motto: Follow Me.”

  Stark laughed. “Yeah. Easy to say, ain’t it? Until somebody’s pointing weapons at you. Okay, there’s not much else to say right now. Lieutenant, we’re going to load floor plans for the barracks into the Tacs of each soldier. We can’t afford to brief them all before the op goes down. We can’t risk the mutineers getting a warning.”

  “I understand.”

  Sanchez made a gesture, which in another person would have registered as a powerful frown. “You intend loading a detailed plan into the Tacs and not briefing the soldiers prior to that? This does not sound like the Ethan Stark I knew.”

  “No,” Stark replied. “No, it doesn’t and no, that’s not the idea. You’ll get the floor plans. You’ll also get what little we know of troop dispositions, mainly where the barricades are at the entrances. It’ll be up to individual soldiers to get in there and take down the enemy.” Stark grinned. “Maximum individual initiative. Does that sound like the Ethan Stark you knew?”

  “Absolutely. It should be an interesting operation. Lieutenant Conroy and I will hold her company in readiness until we receive word from you.”

  “Thanks. And Lieutenant? Please let Corporal Gomez know I’m really looking forward to working with her again.”

  “Certainly, Commander.”

  Stark sweated out the full twenty-four hours Doctor Gafton had projected, plus three of the plus-or-minus-four-hours fudge factor Gafton had added on. When the ammo arrived, he examined the rifle magazines doubtfully. “They’re sealed magazines. How can we be sure they’re really nanobot rounds?”

  Doctor Gafton offered up his characteristic eye blinks, then pointed to the magazine Stark was holding. “They are labeled with the appropriate ammunition designation.”

  “What if the label is wrong?”

  “It shouldn’t be. That would create problems.”

  Stark exhaled, looking toward Sergeant Gordasa. “Gordo?”

  Gordasa smiled, gesturing to indicate the crate of rifle magazines. “I double-checked. Broke open a couple at random to verify contents. That cost you two magazines and forty rounds of this special ammo, but I figured it had to be done.”

  “It did. Thanks, Gordo. You’re my kind of supply officer.” Stark palmed his personal comm unit. “Sanch? Get Conroy and her people over here. We got some ass-kickin’ to do.”

  Less than half an hour later, Corporal Gomez stood stern-faced before Stark, her hand held at a rigid salute. “The platoon is ready for action, Sargento.”

  Stark looked down the line of soldiers, noting familiar faces who were trying to suppress grins. He returned the salute. “Good to see you, Anita. We gotta get together more often.”

  “Maybe when we ain’t getting’ shot at, huh, Sargento? We gonna kick these mutineers’ butts?”

  “That’s right.” Stark waved all three platoons into seats, briefly explained the nanobot rounds, discussed the probable number of mutineers, then called up the floor plan for the Chamberlain Barracks and pointed out the barricades. “That’s about all we know. You all have a copy of this floor plan in your Tacs.”

  “The tactical plan in there, too?” asked Sergeant Rosinski from Third Platoon.

  “No.” Stark waited a moment for the reaction to wind down.

  “There ain’t no plan, because we don’t know enough to make one. So here’s what you apes do. You go in there. You spread out and disarm everybody. If anybody starts shooting, you take ‘em out with the nanobot rounds.”

  “But, where do we go?”

  Stark waved at the floor plan. “Wherever you need to go. Listen, I’ll explain so you’ll see why I’m doing this.” It was a habit Stark had been criticized for in the past, by officers annoyed at the time it took him to explain orders that his squad should have been executing without thinking about them. “Put yourself in the enemy’s place. Somebody’s attacking. What’s the first thing you do?”

  A pause, and then Corporal Gomez answered. “You figure out where they’re putting most of their effort. The main attack, sí? So you send reinforcements to stop it.”

  “Right. Suppose instead of a main attack you’ve got about a hundred soldiers all moving independently?” Another pause, then soldiers around the room began smiling. “That’s the idea. You’re all vets. Break into fire teams, go individual if you need to, and spread out to check out every room of that barracks. Your rifles will be loaded with flash-bang grenades to help confuse anybody who needs confusing, and we’ll be pumping some smoke into the barracks through the vents to hinder visibility a little. Not too much smoke, because we don’t wanna suffocate anybody not in armor, but enough to help.”

  “So what are we doing while our troops run around by themselves?” Rosinski demanded.

  “You’re keeping an eye on them,” Stark advised. “Somebody’s gonna run into trouble. Maybe trapped, maybe facing too many defenders. You watch for that on your scans, and direct help where it’s needed. Look, I know this is unconventional as hell, but we need two things to make sure we rescue the hostages without harm. The first is surprise and the second is speed. By spreading you guys through the barracks by every route possible we should be able to maintain both. Any questions?”

  A corporal from First Platoon raised his hand. “We’ll all be in the same armor as the mutineers. How do we know who’s who?”

  “We’ve tweaked the IFF in your outfits to give a special return so you’ll know who other members of the company are. Any armor without the tweak that queries you will get a standard reply, so that should help confuse the bad guys a little. Hell. I almost forgot something real important. These nano rounds ain’t lethal to anybody in armor. They shouldn’t even penetrate the armor. But if you shoot one at an unarmored soldier the least you’ll do is shock their nervous system bad. Don’t fire at anybody who’s not in armor.”

  “What if they’re shooting at us, Sarge?” Private Chen from Stark’s old squad asked.

  “Then you get close enough to hit ‘em over the head and take their weapon away.” He saw the order didn’t meet with great enthusiasm. “Sorry, people. That’s the way it’s gotta be. None of those mutineers are gonna be KIA because of something we did. And, yeah, in case you’re thinking that’s easy for me to say, don’t fo
rget I’ll be right in there with you. I’m leading Second Platoon in. Walking through the front door.”

  Reaction rippled through the company, the members of Second Platoon grinning with delight. Then Conroy stood. “I’ll be leading in First Platoon. The same way. Rosinski, you get Third Platoon all to yourself.”

  “Lucky me. I gotta walk in, too?”

  “That’s up to you. How’s your command presence feel today?”

  “It’s been better. But it should be enough to handle a bunch of apes from Second Brigade.”

  “Good,” Stark grunted. “Anything else?”

  After a long moment, another corporal stood. “Sergeant. I gotta tell you, some of us are worried about these, uh, special rounds for the rifles.”

  “They’ll work, Corporal. They’ve been tested on battle armor. Don’t worry about that.”

  “With all due respect, that’s not the worry.” The corporal looked around, licking his lips at the stern, questioning expressions on the faces of the senior enlisted. “Some guys are wondering… well…”

  “Spit it out.”

  “How do we know these ain’t normal lethal rounds and we’re going in there to really take down these guys permanent?” the corporal blurted.

  Stark held up a hand to suppress the angry murmurs that followed the question. “I take it my word ain’t good enough?” The corporal gulped, but shook his head. “Well, you got guts to ask that question. Who else is worried about that? Show me hands. I mean it.” Slowly, hesitantly, another score of hands raised. Twenty. Twenty-one counting the corporal. I can’t afford to leave that many people out of this op. The odds are too bad as it is. How can I reassure these guys? Breakin’ open another magazine wouldn’t convince them. What would? Oh. Well, if you gotta, you gotta.

  Stark took four steps to the side, away from the display, sealed his armor’s face shield, then turned to face the other soldiers again, spreading his arms out slightly. “Okay, you apes are worried about the nano rounds killing your buddies. So shoot ‘em at me.” Stark could feel the incredulity radiating from the company. “I mean it. I trust ‘em enough to let you pump rounds into me if you want to. I can’t give you any more assurance than that.” And Anita, for God’s sake don’t you shoot the first soldier who raises a weapon at me.