by Michael Ryan
“Major Balestain, you have to be reasonable,” growled his superior officer, General Bolfenter. “We’ve explained why this time is different.”
“I understand,” Balestain acknowledged. “But the answer is still no. As a colonel, it would be mandatory for me to be tied to a desk rather than working where I’m needed. So I’m honored, but not interested.”
The conference included a handful of Tedesconian senators who’d traveled to Earth to assess the war effort firsthand. The general and the politicians sat in a secure underground facility halfway across the globe from Balestain, who was never far from the stench of war.
“May I speak, General?” one of the senators asked. His tone conveyed he wasn’t seeking permission.
“Yes, of course, Senator Baalerton. You have the floor,” the general answered.
The senator was the highest-ranking Tedesconian politician on Earth and the top-ranked government official to have ever traveled off Purvas. He spoke crisply, with the distinct accent that identified him as one of his planet’s wealthy and educated class. He stood to project authority – a show of power usually reserved for use with Gurts, who, like humans, were considerably shorter than Tedesconians. His black eyes glared for a moment, but he quickly adjusted his features to reflect friendliness instead of contempt.
“Major Balestain,” he began, his voice sonorous and measured, “your service record is impeccable. Your ribbons and–”
Balestain interrupted him. “Senator, I’m far beyond the days where flattery can influence me.”
The senator’s composure never wavered at the major’s insulting tone. “I see here that your family owns considerable shares of Zelonid Tech, Major. I sit on an appropriations committee–”
The major cut him off with an archaic Purvastian curse he’d learned from an uncle. “Senator, I’ve seen more purvast blood spilled on this disgusting backwater planet than I could have imagined was possible a decade ago. You political…appointees…sit in your comfortable offices and make plans while your pawns are slaughtered like chickens at the hands of humans.”
The senator shook his head, as though dealing with a petulant schoolboy. “With all due respect, we’ve exterminated millions of humans, Major. Hundreds of millions. It’s the Gurts who’ve done the most damage to our armies.” He hesitated. “Let’s be pragmatic here, Major. The public needs a hero, a face to associate with our efforts. You’re the perfect candidate.”
“I’m uninterested in being anyone’s puppet,” Balestain stated flatly. “I’m a warrior, not a lickspittle. And for the record, I have no concern for your petty inducements or veiled threats. Zelonid Tech can go bankrupt tomorrow, Senator. I don’t care. Attempts to bribe me will be as productive as trying to instill civility in humanity.”
The general cleared his throat. “You’ve made your point, Major.” He frowned at the transmitter. “Gentlemen, I see no reason to continue with–”
“General,” the senator interrupted, “you can order the major–”
The general glowered at the screen. “The major has made it clear that if he’s forced to accept a promotion, he’ll resign. He has that right. There’s nothing more to discuss, Senator. I understand your disappointment, but it’s his decision to make.”
“But, General, under the circumstances–”
General Bolfenter cut the conference feed, leaving only himself and the major online. His tone softened, and a smile played across his face. “Abast, I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said, using Balestain’s first name. “Annoying a politician is a dangerous game even at the best of times, and with the war going against us, even more so. These are desperate times.”
“I hope I can be left out of these political machinations in the future. Find another hero. As to the Gurts beating us, whether we can reverse the course of the war or not, the more damage I do here, the more negotiating power you’ll have, if it comes to that.” Balestain paused. “I’d like your permission to adopt no-quarter rules of engagement. I barely have the logistics in place to manage our own needs, much less play nanny to prisoners.”
The general’s scowl deepened. “Done. But military targets only.”
“If I’m saddled with the responsibility of feeding and housing civilians, I’ll be overwhelmed.”
The general’s eyes widened. “You’re suggesting a zero-prisoners policy? Civilians included?”
“That’s right.”
The general chose his words carefully. “I can’t authorize tactics that will come back to haunt us in future negotiations,” he said flatly. He looked away. “You have your orders, Major.”
“Acknowledged, sir. End record.”
“End record,” the general said.
“Okay, no bullshitting, Malokin,” the major said, using the general’s given name. “How do you want me to proceed?”
General Bolfenter coughed. “Kill as many as you can.”
Balestain ended the transmission and grinned. His hatred for humans had only intensified during his years on Earth and had become a consuming passion as the war had gone against his side in spite of his best efforts. Humans were like feral livestock – they had some uses as cheap labor, but once out of their cages had little redeeming value he could see. Why his superiors insisted on coddling humanity was beyond his comprehension; but now, at least, he was free to wage war as he understood it had to be fought if it was to inspire terror in the enemy.
The general’s unofficial approval of his proposal signaled that the gloves could finally come off. He was confident the general would run interference for him if the inevitable complaints were lodged. The thought of it didn’t trouble him.
Not when compared to the chaos he could visit on the enemy.
He would be unremitting death riding a fire-breathing horse, and he would destroy everything in his path, expecting and delivering no mercy.
~~~
Six hours later, Balestain was back on the battlefield and had issued an order to hold his two platoons of TCI-Armored infantry back in reserve.
“How long should we stand down, sir?” one of his platoon leaders asked after the battle had shifted in favor of the Gurts.
“Hold until I give the order, Lieutenant,” Balestain answered. With seven tanks and two mechas on the field supporting his regular infantrymen, he didn’t want to risk his shock troops if he could help it. “Get that GH-16 to higher ground,” he ordered.
“Sir,” the operator in the GH-16 mecha said, “I’ve got a malfunction in my–”
The line went dead.
“Goddammit,” Balestain snarled. “Somebody move south and support that mecha before…shit. Never mind. Disregard. Lieutenant Briggslate, move your squad into that swale and protect the other GH-16.”
“On it, sir,” the lieutenant answered. He moved his tanks into position to protect the rear of the last standing mecha while continuing to pound the Gurt bunkers with rail-cannons.
Balestain watched the destroyed mecha burn as his comm line crackled.
“I’ve got enemy movement in sector B-2, sir,” another platoon leader said. “Permission to engage?”
“Granted.”
Balestain smiled. The move was an obvious retreat toward a lightly fortified small city approximately five clicks to the southwest.
Which meant that the Gurts were low on ammo – there was no other explanation for the abrupt reversal. He keyed the commander of one of his tanks. It was carrying fourteen HE, seven KE, and enough material to make forty thousand antipersonnel bolts for the coaxial Gauss gun.
“Yes, Major,” the TC said.
“I want you to conserve munitions, Sergeant.”
“Sir, to what extent?”
“Critical shots only to defend our last mecha,” Balestain answered. “When it falls, I’m going to move you through sector B-2. You’ll be following the enemy into the city.”
“Fire rules inside the population center, sir?”
“Anything that breathes, Sergeant.”
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A moment’s hesitation was followed by a grunt. “Yes, sir.”
Balestain activated the contact screen for the regular infantry. There were four hundred glowing dots. Half had changed from green to black, indicating they were dead, and a quarter were yellow. He toggled to the intel officer’s comm line.
“Lieutenant, what’s the status on the remaining Gurt infantry? Armored and non-armored. Also, I need a field assessment of the defensive capabilities of that city – Urdaniction.”
“Yes, sir, give me a minute on the numbers.”
The major made a note of the time. “We don’t have all day, Lieutenant.”
“Sir, there are approximately two hundred and seventy-five lightly armored Gurts on the field. The TCI-Armored count is seventeen, sir.”
“Get on that assessment.”
“Sir.”
The defensive capacity of Urdaniction wouldn’t likely result in a change of strategy, but Balestain disliked surprises.
At exactly sixty-two seconds, he keyed the comm line again. “Lieutenant, we don’t have enough ammunition to wait for you to write a book report. Give me what you’ve got.”
“Yes, sir. Urdaniction is a suburban center that houses workers for several larger cities, all reached by high-speed rail. I can send you a map of the rail lines if you like, sir.”
“Population estimate? Possible defensive weapons?”
“No defensive capability to speak of. I’d need more time to be certain, but my initial assessment is that it’s largely helpless.”
“Very well, that’s all I need. Forward the rail locations to our rear guns, but tell them they’re last to target.”
An hour later, the battle had turned decisively in favor of the Teds.
“Sir, the enemy’s in full-scale retreat,” one of three surviving platoon leaders reported over Balestain’s comm line.
“Pursue and engage,” he ordered.
“Sir.”
Balestain silenced the comm line and ordered a transport. While he waited, he slipped a pair of HP-Armor coveralls over his uniform. After checking the fastenings, he clamped a helmet in place and left the command center.
He keyed his second-in-command as he marched to the exit. “Captain Hallscontia, if I’m taken off-line, you’re to finish what I’ve started here, understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the captain acknowledged. “Sir, as a reminder, we’ve still got two platoons of armor sitting in the wings. Shall I order them to move?”
“Negative. I’ll issue orders for them shortly.”
“Sir.”
Balestain kept Captain Hallscontia on his staff because the man knew better than to expect long-winded explanations. He asked questions, but once he received an answer, that was the end of it. Balestain wished he could requisition more officers like the captain, but at this stage of the war they were in short supply.
Once in the armored transport, Balestain ordered both platoons of TCI infantry to meet him at a set point. When the groups arrived, he stepped from the vehicle and studied them before addressing them. “Men,” he said, “we’re here so we can speak on short-range IR. This will have to be quick and is coded as maximally classified.” He paused to let that sink in and then cleared his throat, assured he had their complete attention. “We’ve been ordered to completely sanitize this city, taking no prisoners. Questions?”
“Sir, completely?” one of the platoon leaders asked. “There are…what, over a million civilians still within the city limits?”
“That’s not our concern. Our orders are to wipe it from the map, Lieutenant. Any other questions?”
“Infrastructure, sir?”
“Let the long guns worry about that.”
A moment of silence hung heavy in the air at the unprecedented command. Civilians were traditionally off-limits except as collateral damage. But the men were loyal to the major, and if he’d accepted the order to slaughter a million innocents, he’d had good reason.
“Move out,” he ordered.
The Tedesconian TCI-Armored soldiers marched into Urdaniction and, after a token resistance by the surviving Gurt forces, methodically butchered the better part of one point one million civilians.
CHAPTER THREE
The conquest of the Earth, which mostly means the taking it away from those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses than ourselves, is not a pretty thing when you look into it too much.
~ Joseph Conrad
Two Years after the Arctic Mission
December 19, 2301 Human Common Era
Command transferred me to Blue Squad, Fourth Platoon, Delta Company of the Seventeenth Regiment after I recovered from hypothermia and did my time in army-required PTSD therapy.
I was assigned a new partner, Callie Dunn, whom I instantly took a liking to, but who also caused me endless worry. I didn’t want to mourn again as I had for Juliana, who’d died a shameful death in the cold. Her loss still caused me nightmares, and I’d sworn to myself that I’d never allow anything like her needless death to ever happen again.
Around the same time I was cleared for duty, HQ released the latest version of TCI-Armor, which was a major leap forward in technology. Delta Company was fitted with the new suits and rotated through the lunar training facilities. Suit retraining took six months. Specialty training – we’d both qualified for sniper school – took another six.
After a year together, Callie and I were in love.
We were also promoted together to the rank of corporal.
A week after our graduation ceremony, we were dropped into some of the worst fighting on Earth. We lost nearly twenty percent of our unit inside of a month.
Sometimes I wonder what kind of math is used by generals and politicians to justify their sending legions of fighters to their deaths for no apparent reason, but ours is not to reason why. Infantry’s job is to do and die.
And die we did.
~~~
Eventually we received orders to make the trip to Purvas, the home planet of the Guritains, the Tedesconians, the Errusiakos, and one hundred and ninety-three other nationalities. The geopolitics on Purvas were as complex as any had been on Earth, with secret factions, longstanding rivalries, and racial hatreds that spanned centuries.
Purvasts had developed interstellar travel before humans, and they’d entered the orbit of our mineral-rich home like Cortés landing in the New World in the sixteenth century. Sol’s third planet held treasures that humans hadn’t learned to fully exploit, and by the time human experts comprehended the true value hidden in Earth’s crust, the alien explorers had staked claims guarded with both armaments and interplanetary laws that left humanity out of the equation.
Humans hadn’t been far from developing the same technology used in a Belkinotic drive, but many purvasts had still considered earthlings – humans of all races – as uncouth savages.
The Guritains were at war with the Tedesconians in part because of conflicts over territory on Earth. Like most humans, I’d sided with the Guritains, whose physical appearance, culture, and behavior had more similarities to earthlings’ than those of the Teds. Unlike most humans, I’d joined the Guritain Armed Forces and declared my lifetime commitment in an ancient Guritain blood oath, pledging loyalty, fidelity, and service until death. Such was my youthful idealism that I never stopped to consider how soon that death might come.
~~~
When you’re in an SDI unit, on standby orders, the speculation about when and where you’re about to be dropped into the shit is constant. Most get it wrong, but eventually the unit’s deployed, and at least one of the rumors winds up being correct. The speculation this time around – our first off-Earth drop – had resulted in a thick atmosphere of tension and a rise of latent fear in even the seasoned veterans. It was as if our primitive brains sensed something unnatural was about to happen.
The only thing we could be certain of was that we were going to be dropped onto a planet other than Earth, and while I hadn’t placed my
military credit dollars into any of the betting pools, if I had, I’d have bet on this particular day.
I just had a feeling.
~~~
I watched Callie shuffle and riffle a deck of worn cards, the usual upbeat smile on her freckled face replaced with a tight line. I meant to ask her what she was thinking, but she beat me to the question, her hazel eyes boring into me with an intensity I’d never completely gotten used to.
“What are you daydreaming about?” she asked.
I wished I’d asked first. I swallowed and studied my boots, unwilling to meet her gaze. She already knew me too well, and I realized she knew I was lying as I mumbled, “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” she pressed.
I hesitated. “Nothing. Unless you count freezing to death.”
She frowned. “That was a long time ago.”
“Would you – you know – take a…”
Her expression hardened and she leaned across the table. She took my hand and whispered to me while glancing around. “No. And you shouldn’t talk about it openly. You’re up for review soon.”
“Shit. I know, it’s just…well, never mind. Deal something.”
She studied me for a long beat and then returned to shuffling the cards. “You’re not going to freeze to death in the Biragon.”
“No,” I agreed. The Biragon is the biggest rainforest on Purvas, easily double the size of the Amazon before the War of the Americas.
“But there’s a million other ways to die,” she added. “I mean, if you’re actively trying to give yourself an ulcer.”
I managed a pained grin. “Always the bearer of good news and cheer.”
She gave me a shoulder shrug and a tense smile. “I call it being real.”
“You’re a cynic and a pessimist, and entirely too sarcastic.” I held back a smile of my own, but we made eye contact, and I knew she’d heard the flirtation in my voice.
