by Chris Hechtl
“It's just the idea of eating carrion, let alone someone's pet,” Baxter said, eying Fiben's efforts.
“Disgusting yes. But we do what we have to or we starve,” Kelsy said. “Get over it. Get over yourself. The dogs already have,” she said pointing to the dogs who were sniffing the carcass with interest.
<>V<>
By the fire that evening, Fiben observed their gear. It was nice, very comfortable and warm. It adjusted to his frame nicely. It wasn't a smart fabric either. He'd heard a few of those had strangled their wearers. They had made a few mistakes with it, starting with using red for the outer layer.
“Whoever did this was thinking rescue not camouflage and survival,” he pointed out, tapping the fabric with his hand. They were still under the wing. It was starting to snow, so far just a dusting. If he was right, the underside of the shuttle would turn into a snow cave for a while... at least until enough snow packed up on top to break the wings.
“It should be white. That would make a lot more sense,” he pointed out. “Arctic colors mixed with soot and urban I suppose. Though a smart camo would be awesome,” Fiben said, fingering his new jacket. “Not that I'm complaining,” he said.
“You'd better not or I'll pound your fuzzy ass,” Pat said, eying him. Fiben looked his way then snorted in amusement at such an outlandish idea. He did like the jacket though; it was made out of space age layers. The inner layer had quilting as well as a material that wicked away dangerous sweat.
The jacket had a second outer layer. He could wear them together or individually, with the lighter one used as a wind breaker or rain slicker. Nice.
“We need to get this bird dug out and under cover if we ever plan on using it again. At the very least find better shelter in the morning,” Harper said, eying the group. Most of the people nodded. Imda yawned then leaned against her mom, eyes already closed. Asa stroked her hair, finger combing it.
“Baxter, you've got first watch,” Harper said.
“I can take second,” Fiben said, holding up a hand. Harper and the soldiers looked at him. “Hey, I've been taking second for a while now. I'll be awake anyway,” he said.
“Good to know,” Harper said. “We're all in this together.”
“Yes, sir,” Fiben said, nodding a head to him. That got a few slight signs of approval from the troops.
“The rest of you KP, then bed down for the evening. We'll make a fresh start come first light. What there is of it,” Harper said. He noticed the flight crew were still bedding down in the bird. He'd have to talk to them in the morning he thought tiredly.
It seemed the cold and low light took the energy right out of you. It'd be hell if, no, when they entered real combat.
<>V<>
Paco Attila Effriam shook his head to clear it as he got out of the shuttle or what was left of it.
The flight crew was dead. The shuttle had belly flopped on the snow, but with the landing gear down, the drag had turned what should have been a rough but survivable landing into a messy one. Well, messy for the flight crew. His people had all been in five-point harnesses that hadn't unlocked until the craft had come to a safe stop. Ten of them had survived. Two had died from snapped necks. Either they'd snapped in the landing or at some other time. Either way, dead was dead, he wasn't going to cry over it.
He tried to take a deep breath but ended up coughing instead. There was a lot of smoke from the wreckage. The stink was bad. “How long were we out for?”
“A couple hours at least. Maybe more,” Vladek said, eying the sky. It was all one dark cloud from horizon to horizon. There were no breaks at all. The land was dark, very dark. He looked out and whistled at the wreckage strewn in the shuttle's wake. “Yeah, that sucks. Any landing you can walk away from I suppose,” he drawled, gathering gear.
“I guess you are the acting officer? Wladislaw asked, eying Attila.
“Got a problem with that?” Attila asked, eying him coldly. “And who's acting? Get over yourself.”
“Yes, sir!” Wladislaw said with just a slight hint of mocking in his tone. “Your orders, sir?”
“Unload the ship. Vladek! Posey! Find us some wheels or something. Anything. Or at least a building we can stage out of. We don't want to be near this thing long in case the robots come calling or the fuel decides to blow up,” he growled.
“Yes, sir,” Vladek said. “We need guns,” he said. “They were um, in the back,” he said.
Attila eyed the wreckage. “So they were. Work on that with the others, then get your ass in gear. Now,” he growled.
“Got it,” Vladek said, moving out.
Attila shook his head as the group swung into action. Fracked up, beat up, but the one thing they had wanted most of all—free.
Now they just had to live long enough to enjoy it.
He'd heard the frantic radio calls over the intercom the pilot had left open and had deduced the other shuttles had been shot down. Immediately he decided to maintain radio silence despite the low risk of interception from the laser. He saw Posey pull it out, and he waved such considerations off. “Leave it,” he growled.
“Why?”
“Best they don't know, either way. If they think we're dead, so be it. We're here anyway, and we're here to stay. But if we're doing this, we do it our way. My way,” Attila growled, eyes flashing. The others in his squad looked up and then nodded in agreement. Posey gulped for questioning his orders then nodded hastily as well.
Chapter 19
“Dad, so what is the plan?” Wendy asked as they finished up with a light lunch. She liked touching base with her dad; it kept him grounded and gave her an insight into his thinking. She just wished he didn't go so hard on the proteins. He needed to eat more fruit.
For Jack, things were going frustratingly, almost agonizingly slow. The loss of the MFI to the troops he had counted on was a major blow to their planning. The troops weren't out of it permanently, but those who had to be repaired either with supplements or prosthetic augmentation, would take months to heal and come online. Napoleon's line about asking for anything but time ran through his head a lot these days he mused. Every second they waited meant more people died. It was mind boggling that so many people had to be brought on board and that everyone had to argue about every little niggling detail.
He thought about all that for a moment as he chewed, eying her for the moment, then slowly nodded. “We've got to take the fight to Earth. To subdue the robots and get in to help the survivors.”
“I know that. I'm talking about how to do that. How we're going to go about it. I've been hearing a lot about EMP,” she suggested.
He shook his head. “It won't work, not on a broad basis. The planet's already been hit with EMP from the nukes,” he grimaced but then continued after a momentary pause. “They effect civilian equipment, not hardened equipment like military or Federal gear.”
“So?”
“So, it won't do much good.”
“Wasn't it you that pointed out doing some good is better than none, Dad?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. He slowly nodded.
“Okay, you've got me there. But the other problem is the EMP is spherical. Weapon designers have tried for two centuries to make an EMP gun or other weapon. The best they have come up with are EMP grenades, bombs, mortars, and such.”
“Um …”
“It's a magnetic impulse device powered by very powerful capacitors,” Jack explained, bringing up an exploded diagram. “But they can be countered. If something is in a faraday cage or other shielded area, underground for instance …”
Which was true, but not all of it. EMP grenades were good; they'd been used by civilian police for some time to shut down rogue vehicles and robots. But they were one-shot weapons, and tended to inflict collateral damage. Their capacitors could also be overcharged or break down over time if they weren't used. The latest designs had better controls to keep the capacitors from accidental discharge, but they tended to be bulky, massing over four kilos. They were more of
a satchel charge then a grenade in his estimation.
It was time to turn the eggheads loose on the problem. Perhaps someone had an idea. A cross pollination of something forgotten or overlooked.
Slowly Wendy nodded, drawing his attention away from his ruminations and back to the here and now.
“EMP isn't the wonder weapon everyone is hoping for. It's also small, unless we're willing to set off more nukes in the atmosphere, which we're categorically not,” he said. She nodded grimly. “Then we have to use them in tactical engagements or set them up as defenses. But they can damage our own equipment …”
“Unless it's hardened?” she interjected. He nodded.
He nodded once. “Right. But the A.I. can also adapt to the things,” he warned. She frowned thoughtfully. “I know I'm thinking a bit far ahead. I am. It's what it takes to do the job.”
“You sound like you are way ahead there, Dad. Maybe we should focus on the here and now?” she suggested, eying him.
“That is what I have you, your brothers, and others for honey,” Jack answered with a trace of a smile. It had been a while since a genuine one had creased his lips. “The biggest problem areas are going to be the world power centers. North America is going to be a tough nut to crack. From the records Athena and General Murtough have put together, we know most of her ground defenses and air/space interdiction forces are still intact.”
Wendy's eyes turned troubled. Jack frowned, looking away. “Brazil, the UK, parts of China, India, and Russia we can say the same. But we have gaps in their defenses from where the nukes got through, gaps we can theoretically exploit.”
“Dad, sending people into a radioactive area?”
He turned sad eyes her way. She stiffened. “It's a hard call,” he admitted. “One we'll have to talk about eventually. But you were asking about the plan. For the moment,” he frowned a bit then indicated the surrounding area. “We're retooling to put everyone on a war footing. Mars, the industrial ships and centers in the belts, the Moon, and L-5 will be our industrial centers. Our heartland. L-5 will be our initial staging ground for the invasion and SAR forces,” he explained.
She nodded.
“The moon will be a part of that.”
“I see. We need to work on the communication problem,” Wendy said, consulting her list. At least she had a general idea of where her father was going now. “It's been discussed. Things would be easier if we could shut down the broadcasts,” she suggested.
Jack nodded. “I've heard the same complaint. It's valid and those targets are on our list. We may have to use KEW strikes to take them out. I'll need to coordinate with General Murtough and the others about how to go about it.”
“So …”
“So once we have things moving along nicely here, I'm going to relocate to L-5 to have a face-to-face with him. I'll be leaving you in charge of some things here. Roman and Zack will handle the military side. At least our part of it,” he said with a grimace. He didn't like the current plan of everyone doing their own force and coordinating them somehow. It was too complicated and wasted precious time and resources.
“Okay,” Wendy said thoughtfully, frowning as she looked down.
“Wendy, you can handle it just fine,” Jack said.
“I'm not complaining, I'm glad you trust me to shoulder your weight, Dad,” she said, looking up into his eyes. “Thanks.”
“It's not as much of a compliment as you think. It's as big a duty as it is a curse honey. Power is never what people think. Those who don't have it don't see it that way; they just see what they can do with it. They never see the consequences. If you screw up, people will die,” he warned, holding a finger up.
She blinked, and then her eyes went wide. Slowly her father nodded, cold sober. “That's right. So get it right the first time. You'll make your share of mistakes. We all do. Try to minimize that. Don't throw caution to the wind, but don't be too cautious. Try to find a middle ground.”
“Dad, you are losing me,” she warned.
He snorted. “You'll figure it out, in time.”
She nodded.
“As I was saying, while meeting with Isaac and the surviving industrial and other leaders in L-5 and on the moon, I'll work on refining the plan of attack while also working on where to stage everyone. We are,” he turned back to her, “going to need people trained. The best two places to do that are VR and on the ground. Real world training trumps VR every time though, remember that. Roman and Zack know it too,” he stated. She bit her lip. “They will need your support to get facilities up and running on Mars. They are working with a core of volunteers now.”
“What about Elliot and Charlie?” she asked.
“Elliot is going to be focused on SAR duties in and around Earth space for the time being. Once that is cleared, I'll send him back here to work with the core Roman and Zack will forge. Charlie,” Jack grimaced, “he wants to go groundside. I get that,” he said shaking his head as he looked away. “But we can't go off half-cocked. Right now I'm looking into some way of getting down and then back up. Extract some critical personnel from the area. Our personnel of course,” he said with a slight sour smile. “Those still alive I mean,” he said. She nodded. She hoped he wasn't going to try to throw people into Montana to see if mom was still alive.
“We'll also try to pick up some leadership while we're at it. We need to coordinate our efforts and get this invasion off and running with some proper intel.”
“Won't they refuse to leave? I mean, Dad, they are leaders. If they leave, if you leave, they'll leave a vacuum. Things could fall apart in their absence,” she warned.
Jack grunted. “It's a risk I admit. One we'll all have to take. But,” he smiled thinly again. “Like General MacArthur said, ‘We'll be back,’” he said as he got up. “Speaking of which, I've got to get going to the next meeting I suppose. Doctor Glass is being a pain in my ass.”
“Okay, Dad,” Wendy said, nodding to him as he left the room. She stared at his desk, and then stood brushing her skirt. She frowned thoughtfully after a moment. “Wait, I thought some actor guy said that? Arnold something or other?”
<>V<>
Wendy watched her brother pace and shook her head. She took a sip of wine and then toyed with the glass. She was tired, exhausted really, but she hadn't done much physically. “I can do more, damn it! Not just sit in with bankers and crap all day!” Yorrick griped, throwing his hands up in the air.
“You went to school for business, brother.”
“Exactly!” He stopped dead and turned. “No, wait. Not what I meant.”
“But it's what dad means. What I mean. You don't know the first thing about being a soldier. So get off that.”
“I know,” he grimaced. “I thought about it. I'm not … not really cut out to be belly down in the mud. Okay, I admit that,” he snarled, face working. “But I can do more! I can lead if he'd let me!”
“Which he won't do, because you haven't proven yourself in that arena. So get over that too,” Wendy said, staring down at her glass.
“Wendy lady, I can ….”
Wendy's face worked. “What? You haven't called me that in a while,” she said with a trace of a smile. She took another sip of her wine. “It's refreshing I suppose … if you weren't trying to get something out of me with your whining, which you are.”
Yorrick winced. “Look, sorry about that, but I just want to help. To do more than deal with accountants and crap,” he threw his hands up again, and then dropped them to slap against his thighs.
“Figuring out how we're going to pay for it all is important, brother mine,” Wendy reminded him gently. “What have you come up with?”
“You haven't read my reports?” Yorrick asked, now hurt.
“No, I wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth,” she said, voice cooling slightly. Or the other end of the animal, she thought privately. “Give.”
“Well,” he flopped down into a chair she pointed at. The chair took a moment then adjusted to his
height and body mass. After a moment sensors recognized his agitation and set to work with massage motors to try to ease it. “… well … um …”
“You were saying?” Wendy asked with another half-smile.
“I've been working with the bankers. That Sikovavich guy is a piece of work!” He rolled his eyes.
“Piotr?”
“Ah, so you know him?”
“We've met. Go on.”
“You've met or …,” Yorrick stopped when his sister shot him a do not go there glare. He frowned then shook his head. “Okay, whatever. Um, anyway, he's floating the war bond movement.”
“Essentially what dad and I figured.”
“Yes. The Mars secretary of the treasury isn't thrilled about it, but we have to do something. Essentially though,” he grimaced. “You do realize we're writing ourselves IOUs, right?” She frowned thoughtfully. “That's what Mister Miter said at any rate. He wasn't too happy about the debt. He kept gassing on about how it would be an albatross hanging around the neck of the economy and would inhibit investments in the reconstruction later.”
“We have to get to that point first,” Wendy replied dryly.
“Exactly what Poitr said,” Yorrick stated as his sister got up and poured herself another glass of wine. “Want me to do that for you?”
“I'm already up,” she said, shooting him a brief look to stay put as she poured. “Go on.”
“Well, the alternative is some sort of lend-lease agreement. I'm not up to speed on that,” he admitted with a frown. “I tried accessing the net but with the blasted restrictions …,” he threw his hands up in despair.
“Relax,” Wendy said, toying with her glass again. It was a nice vintage. Not as nice as some she'd had on the moon but quite nice she thought as she took another sip. “Lend-lease dates back to the days before World War II.”
“That's not telling me much. I can figure out the name and that part.”
“Right, well,” Wendy shrugged as she dredged up the history lesson. “Back in, oh, 1938 or so before the war broke out, the Roosevelt administration hit on the idea of making war material and other things and providing it to their future allies—in this case Great Britain. It would do three things. It would first, help them fight; second, it would gear up America's industrial plant for war; and third, it would pave the way for America to enter into the war.”
