This goal had been his obsession ever since the Council began serious discussions on attacking this world. Keertra had realized from the beginning that a war of this scale could not have a committee directing it. There must be an overall commander, and historically this was the Mor-verridai. Yet, this was not a possibility considering the depths that their ruling clan had fallen to. They had squandered all their riches, uncaring for centuries, while the Council methodically stripped them of their powers. Now they had become corrupt in their misery, so much so that even the Avocrahn, the fanatic warrior clan sworn to protect the Mor-verridai, were openly rebellious. And they were the key that Keertra hoped to exploit. Although he would lose a great deal in this raid, he believed that if his many surias struck swiftly and cleanly against the Mor-verridai, the Avocrahn would gladly swear loyalty to him at a time when the Kezdai needed a strong leader so desperately.
It was a goal that every day seemed nearer to his grasp. Soon, now, many operatives had to be put in motion. But he couldn’t waste time planning for them yet, not until this assault was completed. Irriessa was correct. These aliens might yet have some blades hidden beneath their cloaks.
* * *
As Captain Kaethan Ishida sped his vehicle up to the underground bunkers of the Alabaster Coast Heavy Armor, he was pleased to see that most of his personnel had already arrived. Many of the huge steel doors that led into the bunkers had been lowered, revealing the forward hulls of the Templar Mark XIs that were housed within. The roaring of their gigantic turbines was making the ground vibrate as he stepped out of his vehicle.
Ten nuclear-safe bunkers housed thirty Templars of the Alabaster Coast Heavy Armor, five bunkers on each side of what was called Armor Alley. Twenty-meter wide ramps led down to the three-inch thick steel doors that rose up out of the ground to seal the Templars inside. The doors could be lowered quickly when danger threatened, or just dropped if the base lost power. A large sign at the entrance of Armor Alley presented in large letters the full designation of this unit: Alabaster Coast Heavy Armor, Alabaster Guard, Telville Corps.
Fort Hilliard was home to the Alabaster Guard, which was comprised of several battalions and lesser formations, formed from the population south of Telville. To the east of Telville was Fort Riley and the Chandoine Guard. And to the north was Fort Owen and the Tigris Guard. Most city-states on Delas were organized this way, with all forts kept in competition with each other for honors, and therefore a bigger slice of the defense spending for the next year. It was just the kind of arrangement that you’d expect from a corporate run government, but in fact, Kaethan thought it was quite effective. Not only were the forts always striving for more honors, but a definite sense of regiment was inspired throughout the militias.
Of course, combined exercises were sometimes a problem.
The composition of the Alabaster Guard had not changed since Candlelith purchased the last of their antiquated 150-ton Saladin Medium Tanks four years ago. Their main strike arm now consisted of Kaethan’s battalion of Templars, and three brigades of mechanized infantry in armed Haulers. Preceding them into combat were three recon companies driving armed Haulers and four weakly armored grav-cars. Twelve companies of various caliber artillery provided battalion and regimental level support to their formations. And protecting against air infiltration, and providing emergency anti-armor fire, were four TurboFalcon missile batteries and two ion-bolt defense towers that Telsteel Industries donated to the Telville Corps from their private stocks.
Templar One, Kaethan’s tank, was in the first bunker, right side, of Armor Alley. The blast door was opened wide, so he didn’t bother to enter through the small, security-conscious blockhouse on top. Instead, he just ran down the ramp and into the shelter. His driver, Sergeant Zen Pritchard, was climbing along the outside of the vehicle, checking the outer systems. And with the sudden flash of their spotlight, it was obvious that his gunner, Corporal Andrea Sellars, was on the inside doing her part.
The Metallicast Industries Templar Mark XI was not the latest, or greatest, in the Concordiat arsenal. It was cost effective, and low enough technology to be supportable by local industry. Its three hundred fifty tons of duralloy armor and weapons made it slow and unwieldy, and wasn’t allowed on local roads because it would tear apart the pavement. The sixty-foot long railgun, stretching almost as far behind the tank as in front, threatened to topple the tank over if fired to the side while on the move. Stabilizing legs had to be extended to give them a steady platform for firing the weapon. And its four Rapier missiles were dangerously indiscriminate when they lost their assigned target and began their search program for a replacement.
That said, Kaethan adored the Templar.
As awkward as the railgun was, it lived up to its promise of being able to take a chunk out of any known armor, including the latest endurochrome plate on his father’s Bolos. The entire weapons assembly was mounted on hydraulic jacks that could lift the railgun fourteen inches to fire over a rise, and then drop it down again. Its two ion-bolt point defense turrets were excellent in protecting the tank against infantry and missiles. But most of all, feeling the entire hulk rock as the railgun was fired gave Kaethan such an adrenaline rush that he’d never be satisfied with anything less.
“Permission to come onboard, Sergeant!” Kaethan yelled.
Zen grabbed onto the barrel of the forward ion-bolt turret as he turned his head. Although in regulation jungle camouflage trousers, his battalion assigned top was replaced by a white tee shirt with an advertisement for a local pub. Zen was usually better at protocol than this. Whatever the reason was for it, Kaethan really didn’t care.
“Almost set, Captain,” Zen said. “Are we going to bother rolling out?”
“This isn’t a drill, Sergeant!” Kaethan told him as he leapt up to the first footing. “We’ve just been invaded.”
The captain ignored Zen’s startled glare and made his way over to his command hatch. Sergeant Pritchard was a very competent soldier when he wasn’t suffering from a hangover from the prior night. He was thirty-nine years old, with saltwater-damaged light brown hair. The Guard was a serious commitment to him as supplemental income for his small fiberglass boat business. He never missed a muster, and had been fully certified in Templar maintenance. But Kaethan was sure that Zen never expected that he’d have to fight.
Kaethan’s command compartment was cramped and simple. Large, touch sensitive, configurable control panels were in front and on both sides. Small boxes at the bottom of the main display showed a camera image of an empty driver’s compartment, and Andrea working hard in the gunner’s compartment under the turret.
“Good day,” Andrea said as she noticed his arrival on her own display.
“Bad day, Private,” Kaethan corrected. “We’ve been invaded.”
The captain didn’t know much about Andrea except that she had a big boyfriend named Steve in the Alabaster 1st Mechanized. That stopped any extraneous socializing, at least any that he’d initiate. She was rather pretty, with short auburn hair and an excessive amount of freckles. At twenty-two, she was attending a local college and probably was in the Guard just for the money. She had been assigned to his battalion last season, starting out very jumpy in the gunner’s chair, but by now had become quite proficient. Kaethan had no idea how she’d react with live rounds coming at her.
“What do you mean, `invaded’?” Andrea pestered him.
A command message was waiting for Kaethan as he poked in his password on the virtual keypad that popped up on his right-hand display. On any normal day, this message would say that this had all been a drill and everyone should go home. Today it would be different, no doubt.
But as the command message popped up, the captain was stunned to see just two words, “Stand By.” Kaethan wasn’t surprised that Colonel Neils was keeping the soldiers in the dark, but he was expecting something to be told the battalion commanders.
With a poke of a virtual button, Kaethan hailed his commander, requesting direct communications. He was surprised when it was almost immediately accepted by the colonel himself. After muting his cabin speakers, he activated the channel.
“Just stand by, Captain.” Colonel Neils was ready with his orders. “Remain at full alert until further notice.”
“Colonel!” Kaethan stopped him before he had the chance to close the channel. “We should move out as quickly as possible! We have to hit them before they dig in!”
Kaethan hadn’t given much thought to his father’s advice, but it sounded reasonable enough. Getting a Guard unit to aggressively initiate contact with an enemy outside of their territory, though, would be difficult.