Koban: The Mark of Koban

by Stephen W Bennett

  “Doctor, I applaud your people’s deductions, and I’m certain that you think you just explained something of value to me and the President. Let me assure you that you did not! However, you certainly will.” Her tone killed the grin on the man’s face, as he rushed to explain what all this meant.

  “Admiral, we have built a working model of a Trap field system that obviously employs a scientific leap in the use of Tachyon Space. We have already used it to catch extremely high-energy tachyons several hundred times. From orbit of course,” he added hastily, “in a cruiser’s hanger bay, then dumped them. The Krall Traps work at least a hundred times as fast as the cruiser’s own Trap field at catching the rare high-energy level tachyons.

  “Several of our mathematicians have studied the data, and spoken with the experimentalists. They see evidence for an unsuspected second level to Tachyon Space, which might fit with higher dimensional math with no known physical counterpart in the real world. It suggests a higher space where we can catch tachyons faster. Perhaps form a Jump Hole that may let us travel faster in that higher space. In any case, we can master this technology.”

  He ended that with a rush, as he watched the Admiral’s face steadily darken as he spoke. Then as if he’d thrown a switch, the flood light beam of her smile brightened instantly.

  “Doctor, I was on the verge of teaching you what my British Navy forbearers called keel hauling. I’m sure it’s more serious when conducted in space.

  “Good work. Keep me apprised of your progress, and I can guarantee that you will have the resources necessary to study, build, and test whatever ideas you have.”

  ****

  “This is not a Drill!”

  That follow up announcement blared out of the barracks speakers following the First Sergeant’s initial call of “company, mount up, full load!” The local time now being early “dark thirty” for this small detachment, the last words removed the sense of routine for previous early morning test alerts.

  A mount up order had issued from the speakers a couple of times a week for the last two months, sometimes for a single underperforming one of the four platoons, sometimes for the entire company. Sometimes it was a “no load” timing exercise, to see how fast they could assemble in front of the barracks in their armor. This was only the fourth “full load” order, and they’d never heard that final announcement. This was the real thing. They would finally face off against the Krall.

  Every soldier wore penetration resistant Smart Fabric utility uniforms, so they were always ready to step into their powered armor with little notice. Each trooper’s suit hung by their bunk, helmet attached. They backed in, using handholds to support themselves as they stepped headfirst up into the removable helmet, pre-attached to the suit’s shoulders for speed, the torso section already opened wide. A hanging suit was normally stored closed, but a “mount up” call triggered them to flare open for quick entry. They looked rather like a human shaped dark gray lobster shells, split wide open.

  The suit’s limbs were also splayed, and slipping one’s feet into the open boot tops and hands into the gauntlets triggered the suit to curve snuggly around arms and legs, as the torso clam shelled closed and sealed.

  There was a ten second diagnostic for suit integrity and electronics, and for the mechanical carbon fiber “muscles,” built into the armor to activate. Simultaneously, closure activated the Mobility computer, which synchronized itself to the wearer’s muscles, to mimic and amplify human muscle movement in the armor’s carbon fiber muscle equivalents. A preprogrammed user profile bypassed the additional ten seconds of synchronization. Therefore, after a suit completed closing and it detached from the support and storage rack, a trooper was ready to move out in just ten seconds. That was optimally, of course, which was what the drills were trying to achieve.

  The armor only had a few built-in weapons, such as wrist mounted clip-on four-inch pistol barrels with a feed of six forty-five caliber bullets along the forearm, with five spare ammo tubes attached around the upper arms. Such pistols could clip to either wrist or one on each, as the trooper preferred. There were two small short-range missile launchers built into the left and right oversized shoulder pads, with three reloads for each. Four grenades were attached at the waist on each side.

  The main armament was what the soldier carried. The standard weapon was a forty-five caliber short barrel submachine gun, with an under barrel grenade launcher, attached and hanging from the right side suit chest plate, on a retractable and detachable lanyard. One person of each squad carried a .50 caliber semiautomatic long barrel rifle, which was effective as a sniper weapon.

  There were standard and explosive rounds available for each weapon. The explosive smart rounds were equipped with the Braxton chip, a tiny bit of tough electronics that triggered the round’s explosive charge on command, or on contact with the target. The chip could be set to detonate a round at a specified measured distance down range, as it was fired, so that even if the laser ranged slug missed, the round detonated before completely passing the intended target.

  The troops preferred to call the Braxton smart rounds “KK’s,” for Krall Killers. Until it was field-tested, the name was optimistic. However, in testing, nearly every shot fired at your laser-identified target either struck directly, or exploded in fragments next to the target, producing some level of damage. This proximity detonation worked even on a fully concealed enemy behind a barricade, if you fired over them or to the side.

  The powered armor permitted every trooper to carry a significant number of reload clips on attachment points around the suit, and to sling ammo pouches over each shoulder to hang at hip height, or to slip around to the backside as a fanny pouch. A fully loaded trooper looked cumbersome, but in reality, the suit could carry considerably more mass if it wasn’t so bulky.

  In autopsies of the Krall killed on the Nook, their enemy’s organ redundancy and rapid control of bleeding, along with their physical size, strength, and tissue toughness, suggested that you needed many hits to kill a Krall. Therefore, running low on ammo and “fixing bayonets” wasn’t an option. That didn’t keep the Army from issuing some nasty looking eighteen-inch double-edged combat knives, serrated on one side. Many troopers carried one strapped to the side of each calf.

  Because maintaining a high rate of heavy firepower was essential, spare ammo and weapons for the highly mobile force needed to go with each of the company’s four platoons. A squat robot, wheeled, and with extendable six jointed legs, filled that role. It could follow the platoon over nearly any terrain, carrying additional weapons, and ammunition. The on-board AI was normally in contact with and responded to the platoon leader, but squad leader sergeants or corporals could also call for the ‘bot.

  The official Army designation was the MOD-5, for the fifth version of a past war’s Mobile Ordinance Delivery system. This was the first one ever equipped with artificial intelligence, a radio, and a voice. No self-respecting unit would stick with any stale, impersonal Army designation for such a vital piece of equipment. Each one gained its own name.

  First platoon was the first of the four platoons to complete assembly in the quadrangle in front of their barracks, three squads of eight soldiers each, lined up in two rows behind Lieutenant Margold, the Platoon Leader.

  Margold’s AI, his platoon sergeant “surrogate,” had identified and timed all twenty-one of his trooper’s response, and that of their squad leader sergeants. They had beaten the fastest of the other three platoons by eleven seconds in assembling. Except, where the hell was Waldo? It wasn’t parked behind second squad, where it should be.

  Margold was about to query his AI, when his helmet’s corner display showed an image of the heavy squatty robot darting down the barracks ramp, and it joined the platoon. First platoon’s MOD-5, “weapons and loads delivery orderly,” designated Waldo by vote, reported that it had just acquired the Army’s newest issue of .50 caliber KK smart rounds, thus explaining its delayed arrival. The previous issue of 50KK’s had
sometimes detonated early, before reaching the target’s tagged distance if they sensed a miss too early. This was worth the wait, and first platoon was still first to assemble anyway, because the other MOD-5’s were also late arriving at their respective platoons.

  Captain Krysinski was in armor, of course, standing in front of the assembled troops, his First Sergeant a step in front and to the side.

  First Sergeant Nobutu didn’t take roll call because there wasn’t need actually. Her AI told her everyone was present and accounted for, the suits reporting that to her. The rumble of four shuttle engines powering up at the airfield nearby was apparent. Calling soldiers to attention standing in armor was pointless, since you couldn’t really tell if they complied, but some traditions demanded their respect.

  “Atten-hut! All troops assembled Sir.” She announced, without turning or saluting the company commander. That was a tradition that was waning, after introduction of armor and AIs. In addition, if this briefing delay in loading the “quick response” shuttlecraft caused civilian lives, Captain Krysinski decided he’d eliminate the assemblies. Briefings on the move were just as practical.

  “Thank you, First Sergeant. People, an unknown number of Krall single ships are landing or have landed on Poldark in the last fifteen minutes. Traffic control radars detected a single White Out with the characteristics of a standard sized large Krall ship twenty minutes ago. It was in stealth mode so radar didn’t see where it went after that. We believe that they normally can carry thirty-two single ships, which are also radar stealthed. It is launching them as we speak.

  “However, all of our largest cities now have entertainment style laser array systems installed as impromptu detectors. I’ve just been told there were a number of beam deflections detected from unseen airborne objects over Belgrade. This is when visible green lasers beams suddenly take a right angle turn after striking a reflector, leaving a hole in the green light in the sky. That happened at two locations in the last ten minutes over the city. One was to the northeast of Belgrade, another south. Considering the Krall typically land at the outskirts and kill their way into the suburbs, we are deploying to the outskirts of the city in those two locations, two platoons in each area to intercept. If we guessed wrong, we’ll move again.

  “Platoons one and two take the northeast, three and four the south. I’ll stay airborne to observe and coordinate. Platoon leaders, move your people out and let’s kill some Krall.”

  ****

  Two single ships of the thirty-two released chose the same large city to attack, although they each found concealment for their craft in different quadrants of the target.

  Borkdol set her ship down in what appeared to be a deserted mining area or stone quarry, a short distance south of the nearest apparent human nesting area. There were dozens of small structures along a roadway that ran past her place of concealment. She would hunt through those nests first, killing the humans she found. Then she would make her way into a more congested nesting area, deeper into the nest grouping her raid leader said the humans called a “city” in their language. It was larger and more dispersed than the domed compounds the Krall preferred. The individual nests were for related human clan mates, but they were not usually clan related to the neighboring nests. She decided that in the absence of clan affiliations that like the Krall, the humans would offer little assistance to neighboring nests.

  Perkta chose to land on nearly the opposite side of the huge human nesting area from his clan mate. He had previously participated in a raid on a neighboring human planet, but didn’t remember what the name of the mostly agricultural world was.

  His primary recollection of that raid concerned the two warriors that lost their single ships and the different consequences for each. The angry raid leader had shot the warrior that lost his ship intact, apparently buried under a small mountain. The warrior that had his ship explode, tampered with by a human, had only lost eight points worth of his over two hundred fifty six kills. The death of the tampering human actually offset that penalty by one.

  Perkta chose a landing place on the roof of a twelve story human nest in a more built up nesting area. He could stalk his way down each level, killing any human he could find. When he moved on to other buildings, if any animals survived and found a way past his coded lock on the sealed ship, that would trigger the tamper device and destroy the large nest. He would claim at least eight kills for the destruction of the building with the ship if that happened, erasing the points lost.

  Neither warrior was still inside their ships to observe the console monitors when the automatic tracking began of inbound targets towards their general landing areas. Each warrior had already dismissed the feeble human laser defenses their Olt’kitapi designed ship had easily deflected. The weapons were so low powered and useless that both warriors elected to ignore them. It would be a waste of time to destroy the source of the sky scanning low powered green laser system. They were unaware that its only purpose was to deflect a visible beam off a craft invisible to eyes and radar.

  Borkdol, after she made her exit and sealed her small ship by a quarry wall, noticed a distant droning variable pitch sound, repeatedly changing from low to higher to lower pitch sound.

  Her com system on the shuttle console had detected thousands of human transmissions as she descended, which increased geometrically in number shortly before she landed. Not being a translator, knowing only a few hands of human words, she made no effort to listen to the avalanche of mobile phone warnings her intended targets generated. They were phone calls triggered by residents hearing the citywide outdoor raid sirens, and the general civil defense broadcasts on all public access channels for Tri-Vid.

  Most of the population was still unarmed, but they were more aware of the threat this time.

  Running down the edge of the paved roadway, using what little cover was present, she closed the distance to the family unit nests nearest the quarry where she had landed. Initially, there were lights on in some of the nests, or some more came on as she made her way down the street. However, the nest lights were all now extinguished, except for a few widely separated high positioned lights along the street. No matter, Borkdol could see the heat outlines of the buildings, as well as by the reflections from the street lights.

  There was a sharp sounding loud and repeated animal noise, coming from the enclosed small territory around the first nest she was approaching. The gaps between the short vertical strips of the enclosure revealed the warm outline of a four-legged animal, running back and forth along the side of the enclosure, making that sound.

  She angled towards that animal, in the event it had alerted the humans in that nest to her presence. She was unprepared for the hail of automatic weapons fire that came from a blocky low stone structure, placed in front of the nest on the other side of the roadway from the noisy animal.

  ****

  Branko Berzinski had been a quarryman his entire working life, he had lived all that time on this very road, in his parent’s house, now his property with their passing. He bought a submachine gun as soon as the government offered them for sale, using some of the insurance money from his father’s accidental death earlier this year. Then he had used cast off granite blocks from the quarry, to build his own small pillbox in his front yard. He thought, I’ll bet the neighbors won’t call me crazy now, will they?

  At the first sound of the raid siren, he’d flipped on the Tri-Vid, which already had an official talking head giving details. This was literally true, he thought with amusement. After all, this is a hologram close up shot. As soon as he heard that one of the alien ships was possibly detected on the southern outskirts of Belgrade he ran out to his pillbox, carrying his weapon and extra ammunition.

  Branko wasn’t very tall, although powerfully built and thick through the chest. Even so, he had to duck slightly to enter his defensive shelter, with its three firing slits that covered the street in front and both approaches. He set his ammo case down and opened it to lay out extra clip
s, both on the three slit ledges, and on the dirt floor. He placed two clips in each of his two back pockets, and pulled the slide on his gun to chamber a live round, making certain the safety was on this time. He didn’t want Gertrude Mazowitz to laugh at him again if he accidentally squeezed off another round in his pillbox. Only the dirt floor had probably saved him from a ricochet caused wound last week, when he rehearsed what he would do on a dark morning just like this.

  It had been a quiet morning. Right up until he accidentally triggered the predawn shot that roused his closest neighbors. They’d also heard him shout and curse. He’d always had a “thing” for Gertrude, homely as she was, her family living across the street from Branko’s family. She seemed like a good match for his own coarse features and squat build. He’d never had the nerve to talk to her about his feelings, although now that he had a house of his own, he was working up the courage. Her giggle had hurt his feelings, when her father asked Branko “what the hell he was doing” so early in the morning, shooting off his damned new toy.

  His position prepared, Branko stepped outside to watch the sky and to listen. He knew the Army had fast response units that he might hear fly to where a Krall raider landed, and there would of course be gunfire. What he heard first was a whooshing sound from the direction of the old quarry, the newer quarry site being too far down the road to see. He’d not seen anything against the starlit and partly cloudy sky, but there shouldn’t be any noise from the quarry this early. The company only parked equipment there overnight these days.

  The distant city raid sirens had obviously awaked more than Branko. He saw lights come on in four other houses. Gertrude’s father stepped onto his front porch, looking towards the tracery of green laser light over the city. The glow and sound of their Tri-Vid set in their living room told Branko they were listening to the latest reports. “Old man” Mazowitz looked across the street at Branko’s darkened house, clearly wondering where the neighborhood “nut job” was this morning, now that there was a genuine raid alert.