“Disaster?”
Olik gave an impish grin.
“The engineers can explain it better. But the machines are complex, and not really our specialty. We give them mimicry training scenarios so they can learn from our own moves.”
He went through a series of positions, striking and moving about as though fighting an unseen enemy. Each time he moved, the air seemed to whistle. Then he stopped and looked back at the two of them. Kanjana took over, and from the way she spoke, it was clear she was far more comfortable with the technology and research.
“Olik is not wrong. The automation of bipedal machines is incredibly complex and suffers substantial resistance inside the Alliance. You see; the average citizen loves the idea of using technology instead of lives to fight battles. But for this to be fully effective, these machines need the ability to operate with a degree of autonomy, and that is something few will support.”
She tried to look a little more optimistic before continuing.
“Not that it really matters right now. The software developments are years away from anything close to useable. In the meantime, we have machines that can do little more than basic movements and defensive actions on their own. Anything more is...risky.”
“I see,” said the Colonel. But the drones, I assume they will be ready when the time comes. But what about my mercenaries, will they be able to handle the tech?”
Again the Jötnar shrugged.
“An hour ago they’d never even tried to control one. I doubt they even knew the equipment existed. They are quick learners, though. The longer Spartan gives us, the better they will be.”
“And the CD1 drones? Are they combat-ready?”
He seemed pleased at that one particular question.
“The CD1 Grunts are waiting for us. Why don’t we go and take a look?” Khan suggested, as he joined them.
* * *
The training arena inside the ship was a large space, perhaps as big as a standard human sports hall; big enough for a game of most indoor sports, and more than adequate for the six mercenaries to practice in. Colonel Black joined the others at the high observation point ten metres up from the lower level. From there they were granted a clear view of the six CD1 Grunts moving about below.
“And they are all to be controlled by the mercenaries from inside the safety of a control centre or aircraft?”
Khan nodded.
“Yeah, this is full manual control. The further apart the controller and drone are, the greater the issues with latency and lag.”
“Lag?”
Khan turned to Kanjana who had just moved past the Jötnar to check with the engineers.
“Please explain to the Colonel.”
She said a few words to the two engineers and then twisted about with an irritated look on her face.
“Lag is shorthand for the latency, or time delay before sending a command and it being acted upon. For direct combat control this is not an issue, but when operating from a greater distance, we can introduce a minimum delay of around three microseconds per kilometre, with a much higher number, dependent on environmental factors.”
“I see.”
Kanjana wasn’t entirely convinced he did, but the sounds coming from the displays caught her attention, so she turned back around to assist, leaving Khan with the others. He pulled on a special head-mounted command and control unit, and no matter how hard he tried, he still looked uncomfortable wearing the thing.
“Very nice,” Olik said, laughing.
Colonel Black cleared his voice.
“This is not the time.”
“That is true,” Olik agreed.
The device provided Khan with a real-time video feed from each of the mercenaries, as well as direct communications. He threw a quick look to the Colonel before focusing his attention on the robotic Grunts. They moved about with surprising speed and were busy practicing moving about in pairs.
“Let’s get this thing started.”
He pressed the button on the console, muttered upon seeing it was the wrong one, and then pressed another. His voice was amplified in the arena.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, get ready for a full combat scenario. Two teams, six per side with standard XC1 carbines.”
The six drones stopped and looked up to the control booth.
“You will have a ten-second count, and then you will run the course. Activate your weapons, blanks only. Get on the starting line.”
He looked to the pair of SWD senior engineers. Both were in the fifties, grey-haired, and wearing company overalls. Chief Engineer Lennon Ferguson, the shorter of the two looked back to Khan. He was red-faced, and his narrow brimmed glasses did nothing to disguise the fact that he was one of the technical experts.
“The communication buffer is at capacity, no noise or issues. We’re ready.”
The second one then spoke.
“Wait, I have a red light on drone three. It’s experiencing delay in two of its motor drives. It will need to be broken down after the training session.”
Khan nodded.
“What about spares?”
The man sighed.
“We’ve got ten test units and enough parts to make another three, perhaps four.”
The six drones went back to the one side of the hall, and a number of artificial walls rose out from the ground. They were premade and of a fixed height. Though not particularly realistic, they did quickly cut off lines of sight and created a mock maze through which all manner of scenarios could be created.
“Not bad, not bad at all,” said Olik.
“You’ve not seen this before?” Khan asked.
He grinned.
“Unlike you, I’ve had other more hands on activities to get involved in. That’s why I left you to work with Spartan on this.”
Khan laughed.
“Well, it’s not quite that easy. We might be good at breaking things, but do you really think we are businessmen?”
He shook his head with wry amusement.
“I tell them what I’d like, just the same as with Spartan. We leave it to the brain monkeys like Mr Gibbs and Ferguson here.”
Neither of the men moved from what they were doing. Lennon Fergusson pressed the final sequence, and a row of green lights appeared on the display. Olik pointed at the drones below them and to the artificial walls.
“It is working well, though. The training hall is not fully functional yet. But it can be used as a storage area for extra troops, or even a secondary deck for extra dropships. I tell you, this is the future.”
“Perhaps,” agreed the Colonel, “ But right now it’s time for target practice. The future can wait.”
He looked to Khan.
“Now tell me, are these damned drones ready?”
The Jötnar leaned forward and indicated for one of the engineers to activate a particular sequence. It took a few more seconds, and then two doors at the other side of the hall opened up. In walked six more of the drones, each identical in design and specification to those being controlled by the mercenaries. Khan made several final checks.
“They’re ready Colonel. Remember, the Grunt drones are designed so that they can mimic their operator’s movement, all without prior knowledge or training. Any combat proficient soldier or civilian can control them in battle.”
Colonel Black wasn’t so sure, though. He’d seen men and women in battle, and he knew how many months it took for a marine to become proficient at working inside a PDS suit, let alone one of the newer, highly advanced Vanguard MK III suits just entering service with the Corps. He looked at the randomly created maze and pressed the audio button. It was muted by default to preserve the illusion of the combat environment. He removed his finger and looked to the engineers.
“I want night-time conditions. They could be forced to fight at night, or perhaps underground. I need to see them functioning in imperfect conditions. Understood?”
Ferguson looked to Khan for his authorisation. Nothing was said. Just a look w
as passed. The man looked back to his display and moved his hands over several virtual sliders. Almost at once the area transformed into blackness, until the night-vision cameras and thermal imaging systems activated on the virtual two-way mirror installed to face into the arena.
“Fight!”
Colonel Black leaned in close to watch what was happening. He had every faith in the six experienced mercenaries, but as to whether they could control the drones well enough in this fight was far from clear.
Nothing beats experience.
The six computer controlled machines moved slowly and spread out through the maze. They were cautious and continually scanning for signs of the enemy. They all moved and twisted about in exactly the same fashion, predictably so.
“This is based purely on their onboard routines?”
Ferguson pointed to the nearest of the drones.
“They are running via a combination of the ship’s combat simulation engine, and their pre-recorded routines in this arena. It’s a pretty show, but they couldn’t do the same job on their own.”
He laughed to himself and then realised he was the only one.
“That’s a long...long way off, though. Perhaps not even in our lifetimes.”
Colonel Black was not entirely sure if that was a good or a bad thing.
“Perhaps giving combat functional bipedal machines the ability to fight and think autonomously is best left to the writers of science fiction?”
Olik chortled, but added nothing else.
“So, if these drones lose the ability to communicate with a dropship and warship, what happens to them?”
Khan leaned against the display unit, and it groaned under his weight. He looked to the two engineers to answer. Again, Ferguson spoke.
“Well, the communication system is line of sight, but it is backed up with an encoded radio system for basic control commands. If a drone is forced under water, or behind solid cover, it will be able to function using its last commands for several minutes. The backup is designed for a maximum duration of thirty seconds, though.”
He rubbed at his forehead.
“We wanted longer, but Alliance High Command is concerned that could give an enemy time to modify or change their commands if a unit was damaged or overrun in battle.”
Olik cleared his throat.
“I had a more subtle solution to that problem.”
Khan shook his head, clearly irritated at this.
“Go on, tell him.”
“It is very simple. If a drone is out of range for more than a fixed time period, we give it two options. The first is a total shutdown, and the second, self-destruct.”
Engineer Ferguson pushed his glasses further up his nose and returned his attention to the Colonel.
“Based on the current design, if contact is lost, the drone will have to continue under its last commands. That will remain until contact is made via direct line of sight only, or until the unit is disabled.”
“So, it could continue a mission based on fixed parameters?”
The engineer didn’t look particularly convinced.
“Not really, Colonel. You see; the basic commands are not enough to function for more than a few minutes in the real world. They could be to use defensive fire in a certain area, or to walk to a particular waypoint. As I said, the artificial intelligence system is basic. It is there to assist the operator, not replace them.”
They looked back at the two sides moving through the maze. The difference between them was now becoming more and more clear. The mercenaries moved and performed just like human soldiers. Apart from the unusual body armour, they might just as easily have been there in the arena. As one went forward, the second followed behind in a classic cover by cover formation.
“Look, to the right,” said Olik.
They all watched as the first of the machines moved around a corner and into the path of two of the mercenaries. There was no checking to aim, the machine simply opened fire immediately. Either through luck or judgment, the mercenary ducked back, and the second pair broke through one of the temporary barricades to land directly behind the drone. It spotted them, but as it turned, the original pair moved out and hit it from behind. The hits were registered, and it then slumped down as its control system deactivated each component.
“Interesting,” said the Colonel.
The remaining eleven drones continued to move about and exchange gunfire, but after two more of the computer-controlled drones had withdrawn, the Colonel lost interest. He straightened his back and rubbed at his chin.
“Very well. I think I’ve seen more than enough.”
Then his expression softened.
“You are right. The drones are ready, and so are our marines. All we need is contact from Karnak.”
He pointed to Olik.
“Now, what about the two of you? What did you bring with you?”
Olik seemed particularly excited at this conversation.
“We brought our old gear, customised JAS armour from Hyperion, with a few little extras from the workshops on Prometheus.”
“Good. I want to see them in action.”
Olik and looked to Khan.
“Now?”
He nodded happily.
“What the Colonel wants, the Colonel gets.”
CHAPTER NINE
Warship survival in space combat is not a question of mobility; so much as it is with weapons and sensors. A modern railgun can strike a target well before it will ever have a chance to evade the attack. A missile tracking system can detect the heat signature of even the stealthiest craft against the cold void of space. The only defence against such devastating weaponry is through advanced electronic countermeasures and defensive weaponry. If a ship is unable to avoid these attacks, then the secondary line of defence will be close range point defence interceptor weapons. These rapid-fire turrets are capable of shredding missiles and rockets, and sometimes even railgun projectiles. The final line of defence is the armour of the ship, and not even the best-spaced armour can protect a ship for long. So remember, hit the enemy first and continue hitting them before they have the chance to do the same to you.
Naval Cadet’s Handbook
Khagi Caverns, Karnak
The interior of the M-3B armour was warm and reasonably comfortable. For most of the journey, Spartan had even forgotten he was wearing it. The close fitting bands of armour were just millimetres from his skin, yet it was the helmet and visor that created the illusion. By sending wide-angle data to the eyes of the helmet visor, he had a better field of view than he would have with the helmet removed.
Spartan cycled through his vision modes, checking for signs of the enemy. While the infrared could help him move in the pitch darkness, he also needed to make use of the thermal imaging to check for heat blooms. Data scrolled past, along with the computer’s assessment of materials, composition, and even radiation levels. One last check confirmed everything was as it appeared.
“Looks clear. Let’s stop for a few minutes.”
They had been travelling in the tunnel for over three hours before Spartan had given this signal to stop, and Syala needed no encouragement. She could feel an ache in her legs, and her back groaned under the continuous stopping to move under partially collapsed girders. Both stepped to the side of the corroded rail system and to one of the emergency alcoves. These small areas were cut into the rock to allow work crews to be out of the way of traffic. They were not massive but did offer a welcome place to sit, and gave them protection in case any hostile threats were encountered in front or behind.
“How are you doing?” Spartan asked.
His helmet opened up to expose his face, and she could see sweat running down his cheeks. His face was worn and battered; yet there was something youthful about him, for all the years of combat and struggle.
“Don’t worry about me, what about you?”
Both took sips from their water tubes. Their breathing was already slowing, and now that they had stopped,
it was a good opportunity to look about the tunnel. The rock had a glazed look, and a ribbed effect from the heat lances that would have been used to cut deep into it to create the tunnels. Syala ran her hands along the surface as though stroking an animal. The walls left grey marks on her armoured gloves, marks that showed up as almost black in the low light from their armour. Spartan took one more sip and then nodded in the direction they’d been travelling for so long.
“According to the old Byotai, we have about twenty more minutes to go until we reach the closed down transit station. From there, we’ll have to work out way through the inner defences.”
Syala nodded.
“Plus whatever else they’ve added that’s new. Don’t forget, it’s not just a city they’ve taken over. Based on what we’ve seen, I reckon they are using Montu as a major holding area for this invasion.”
She indicated to his armour, specifically the articulated mounts built into the shoulders. There was a small lip of perhaps just a few millimetres on each side that betrayed a hidden mount.
“How many more recon drones are you carrying?”
Spartan lifted his eyes to examine the status indicator inside his helmet. Small icons marked the status of his onboard power unit, weapons, and respirator, as well as tactical information and communications.
“Just the one.”
He said it in a disappointed tone.
“I brought two with me, but the first is smashed somewhere near the ruins of the research facility. It will be enough, assuming the information we received was correct.”
She kept staring at him until finally he shook his head.
“What is it?”
“I’ve been wanting to ask…but…”
Spartan looked at her and tried to gauge what she was thinking. He couldn’t tell, at least, not yet.
“Just ask. I might even tell you.”
She laughed, but it was forced and clearly not spontaneous.
“Arana told me about your family when we were on the way to Taxxu. I’d heard of you when I was a teenager. Your name came up all the time…”
She shook her head.
“When Arana was missing, I saw things…did things…”
Syala seemed unusually upset,
“That’s in the past now.”
Her eyes rose back to Spartan, a little moist but bright with anticipation.
“You were at Euryale, and Terra Nova, weren’t you?”
Lords of War (Star Crusades: Mercenaries, Book 1) Page 17
