A deep-throated growl from the dozen voices on the battle bridge filled the air with the sense of impending victory.
“General Cartier, it appears we will not be needing your aircraft after all,” General Marcks said after he recovered from the spectacular eruption relayed on the vid-link before him. Krazneutz ravine, a drop of five hundred meters to the sea, no longer existed. In its place, as the billowing dust clouds slowly revealed, was a gently sloping hill leading into the sea. Of the Bolo, target of the incredible force which had levelled a hilltop and filled a ravine, there was no sign at all.
“Thermal imaging is still obscured by the dust, General,” General Sliecher reported. “However, I cannot believe that the Bolo could have survived both the fall and the bombardment.” He shivered with the memory. “Nothing could have survived that bombardment.”
General Marcks paid him no mind. He was staring at the vid-link which connected his headquarters to those of his counterpart, General Cartier. The screen crackled with static. “Have the bombers turned back?”
“Full alert! Full alert, you heard me!” General Cartier shouted over the uproar in the combat room. “Get all units on full alert immediately! Target those bombers for the Bayerische High Command!”
“But, General, we don’t know they’re going to attack!” General Renoir protested for the third time.
“Then why haven’t they responded to us?” General Cartier demanded. He turned to an orderly. “Get me General Lambert at the satellite control center, immediately.”
“They may be having communications difficulties,” Renoir protested feebly.
General Cartier turned to look squarely at his Chef d’Intelligence. “Renoir, why do they suddenly have difficulties now that they no longer need our planes?”
“Sir, we used over forty percent of our combat stock of aerial munitions against the Bolo,” General Villiers noted anxiously.
“Wonderful! We waste our ammunition on their problem and they attack us!”
An orderly handed a note to General Renoir. The aging general read it carefully and paled. “Mon General, it grieves me to inform you that we are now receiving reports that Bayerische KriegsArmee units are massing in their assembly areas.”
General Cartier gently took the note from the trembling hands of his intelligence officer.
An orderly called, “General Cartier, I have reached General Lambert. He is on screen two.”
Chef d’Armée General Cartier turned to the second large vid-link, ready to issue orders but Lambert burst out, “General, we are under attack!”
“Colonel, please respond,” a funny voice tittered in Rheinhardt’s ears. He was sweaty and felt funny. No, he felt awful.
“Colonel Rheinhardt.” The voice was high-pitched and chittery, like a normal voice replayed at high speed. “Please respond.”
“Umm,” Karl croaked. His voice tittered in his ears, just like the other. He opened his eyes, or tried to-his left eyelid refused to budge. “Where am I?”
“You are in the supervisory compartment inside Bolo Mark XVI Model C, Das Afrika Korps.”
“Who the hell are you?” Rheinhardt barked. He rubbed his left eyelid. His hand came away bloody but the eye opened. He sniffed the air-it was cooler, easier to breathe but something was odd about it.
“Bolo Das Afrika Korps.”
“No you’re not. The Bolo has a different voice.”
“Your chamber has been filled with a helium-oxygen mixture to accommodate the current operating conditions,” the Bolo said.
“Has it?” Rheinhardt asked, his senses returning. “And what are those?”
“We are currently at a depth of two thousand meters, maneuvering just off the continental shelf,” the Bolo replied.
Rheinhardt came fully awake. “I did not realize that you could operate at this depth.”
“The pressures on my hull are insignificant compared with those normally sustained in combat,” the Bolo said, “I could descend another seven thousand meters without difficulty. However, that is not required for the current mission.”
“What happened?”
“As predicted, the last assault wave threw us out into the sea while providing sufficient coverage to enable this vehicle to descend beneath normal surveillance levels.”
“They think they destroyed you, then,” Rheinhardt concluded.
“There is a ninety-seven point nine percent chance, yes,” the Bolo agreed. “Jamming began some thirty seconds after the final videos of the bombing run were returned to the two command centers.”
“Jamming?”
“Yes,” the Bolo said. “I initiated a wide frequency combat jamming utilizing the communications satellites.”
“But-but-they’ll be confused. The ‘frenchies will think we did it deliberately and our command will think they did it! You’ll start a war.”
“There is a ninety-four point three percent chance that both sides will deploy their forces for immediate hostilities,” the Bolo agreed. “It seemed the most logical way to ensure that all human forces were ready for the upcoming combat. I perceive from my conversations with you that attempting to convince the combined staffs of this threat would have been a futile endeavor.”
“And the aliens?”
“They will have observed the assault on this combat unit, will observe the warlike preparations between the two factions and commence their assault as predicted,” the Bolo replied almost smugly. “I calculate that their assault forces will be deployed well before this combat unit again becomes detectable. At that time it should be possible to neutralize their bacteriological assault and their ground offensive simultaneously.”
“Why wouldn’t they launch their bacteriological assault first and simply haul off and wait for everyone to die?”
“First, because they have been active in this solar system for several months and must rapidly be approaching the point where their continued presence becomes uneconomical. Second, the last time they launched a strictly bacteriological assault they failed to destroy the human settlement. Third, because they have jumped in-system and assumed a combat formation in orbit, concentrated over the population centers of this planet.”
“Hmm.” Colonel Rheinhardt received the Bolo’s rundown with pursed lips. He was distracted by blood oozing down from a cut above his left eye. “Do you have a first aid kit, I seem to have sustained some damage.”
“The first aid kit is located above your head on the right,” the Bolo replied. “Although I do not see why you would need it, I estimate that you are 51.2% effective, more than sufficient to fill the role of auxiliary processor.”
Rheinhardt made a noise that came out as a cross between a groan and the growl he had meant.
“I am removing your CVC helmet and releasing your forward restraints. You should have little difficulty in accessing the kit.”
“While I’m increasing my effectiveness, why don’t you outline your plan of operations to this auxiliary processor?”
“Up to my demise or after?”
“Your demise?” Rheinhardt frowned. “I thought you had planned merely to mislead the enemy into believing your demise.”
“True,” the Bolo agreed. “However, upon my re-appearance, I shall become the priority target for the enemy. They shall concentrate all fire on me, enabling you to implement your successful counter-attack.”
“You plan to drop me off just before their attack and draw their fire to give the combined armies time to concentrate against the aliens, is that it?”
“With the exception that I plan to intercept their bacteriant, yes,” the Bolo agreed. “Their assault on me should allow you to determine their level of ability and the tactics they employ. That information is required to produce a successful counter.”
Rheinhardt reflected upon that. “It would seem to me that it would be better to allow the enemy to start its assault on the combined armies, determine their tactics, and ensure that they possess no weapons beyond the capabilities of our combined armies-something which I find hard to accept.”
“They have five ships in their fleet,” the Bolo said. “Judging by satellite data and their trajectories, and extrapolating from the enemy’s previous assaults and intent of occupying this planet, I would place the individual alien enemy at between point five and two meters height.” Rheinhardt raised a brow skeptically but the Bolo either failed to notice or paid the expression no heed.
“Additionally I calculate that they are oxygen breathers who find this atmosphere and gravity acceptable with only minor alterations. Given those parameters, their attack fleet could contain no more than ten thousand ground troops, probably less.”
“Small force,” Rheinhardt said. “What about nuclears?”
“There are no signs of aggregate radioactive sources,” the Bolo replied. “I conclude from that and their projected war aims that they do not possess nuclear weapons, nor would the use of such weapons be to their advantage.”
“We’re concentrated in a small area, why not?”
“Because the enemy has intercepted the data manufactured by the Noufrench. That data indicates an arsenal sufficient to render this planet untenable.”
“MAD,” Rheinhardt muttered to himself.
“You are referring to the acronym for Mutual Assured Destruction of mid-twentieth century Earth. The strategic nuclear situation does bear marked similarities.”
“So they won’t use nuclear weapons. What other weapons could they possess?”
“That question is not pertinent,” the Bolo responded. “The pertinent question is which weapons will they use?”
“Same thing.”
“Sloppy thinking, Colonel,” the Bolo said. “The classes of weapons of utility in the upcoming conflict are kinetic kill weapons, coherent energy weapons and xeno-forming bacteriants.”