The General took another pull from the bottle, then gave a sigh of appreciation. “I’ll tell you, Fish-Boy. There’s no substitute for real, distilled scotch. Oh, I know the synthohols are chemically identical. And I wouldn’t expect a sprout like you to know the difference. But when you been around as long as I have you can understand the value of time. I feel a kind of kinship with a well-aged single malt. Like we’re old friends.” He offered the bottle to Petrik. “Go ahead, son.”
“No thank you, General. I don’t drink.”
Cho considered this for a while and his eyes seemed to penetrate into Sean’s soul. “Tell me, Fish-Boy. What are the three most important things in life?”
The lieutenant was about to speak when the general answered his own question.
“Scotch, chess, and cigars; in that order.”
“Well, sir, I have to disagree. What about women, children, family?”
“I said things, not people. For God’s sake, boy, I hope you realize that people are always more important than things. If not, you have no business in the Corps.”
“No, sir, that’s not what I mean,” Sean was getting flustered. “I mean . . . ”
The general turned back to the chess board and picked up a rook. “When this game was invented, this piece was also called a castle. Trouble is, their castles couldn’t move. The Bolo is the true rook. A mobile castle.”
“General,” Petrik said abruptly, changing the subject. “Private Lawlor told me that we’re going into battle in three days. Is that true, sir?”
General Cho smiled and shook his head. “That John is quite a character. Plays one hell of a game of chess. But he’s right. I’ve got to drag you and Turkey here into the maelstrom in a couple of days.”
“Well, shouldn’t we be running Turkey through maneuvers? That’s not as much time as I need but I should be able to field test all the major weapons systems if I can start right away.” Petrik then addressed the Bolo. “Are you aware of any systems damage, Turkey? What’s wrong with the recirculator?”
“Some of my sensor links seem to be functioning at less than optimal levels. In addition, two of the backup systems as well as the coolant recirculator—”
The general interrupted. “I’ll tell you what you’ll start, Fish-Boy. Lawlor has a list of supplies he needs. You’ll be taking the rover to the depot and filling the requisition.”
“But sir, I’m the only one here who knows the Mark XXXIV. I need to . . . ”
The general got the same look he had just before he threw the drink. “You need to follow orders, you little shit! Are you telling me I don’t know Bolos? Now get the hell out of here!”
As Petrik made his way out he heard the general address Turkey. “How ’bout I get me a fresh bottle and we start another game?”
“Will we be using the Melconian variation in this game as well, General?”
“Only if one of us invokes it. Until then it’s not in effect . . .”
Sean was disgusted. No wonder the old fool could play chess with a Bolo, he thought as he went outside. He cheats.
* * *
Two days later the lieutenant was cursing out loud as he pulled up next to Turkey. What a nightmare of a trip, he recalled, renewing his frustration. First of all, it took the rest of the first day to get the list from that bastard Lawlor. Sean spent the time inspecting and testing some of the external systems and did manage to repair the recirculator but he really wanted to get inside and put the Bolo through its paces. When he finally got the list it was getting dark and the technician told him he’d better wait until morning to leave. Petrik spent a restless night in the field barracks and, in the morning, was presented with a rover that was actually the incarnation of Satan himself. Between breakdowns and bad directions his two hour trip took closer to eight. And each time he broke down, he had to spend every other second looking over his shoulder for more of those crab monsters. Fortunately, they must have been pretty rare because he didn’t encounter any more. Then those rotten sons-of-bitches at the supply depot kept giving him the run around and he didn’t have his requisition filled until after nightfall. He spent that night in a damp tent being devoured by flying and crawling insects the likes of which could only be conceived by servants of the lower planes of hell. The drive back only took five hours since he knew the way and just had to deal with the breakdowns, but, since he’d left, every minute, every second was eating away at his insides and the five hours seemed more like twenty. He was going into battle the next day and had spent less than an hour with his Bolo. The damage to those sensor links could be critical, not to mention the possibility of faulty backup systems and who knew what else. Well, hopefully, the general was able to check out the major systems, he thought. He couldn’t be that much out of touch . . . or could he?
Sean was somewhat dismayed to see Turkey still sitting there instead of moving around. He was downright distressed when he looked at the ground and realized the Bolo hadn’t moved an inch since he left. What was that senile curmudgeon doing? He burst into the control room and there was the general with his scotch and cigar, still playing chess.
“General, we have to test the systems! The battle is tomorrow!”
General Cho completely ignored the outburst. He took a sip of his drink, then leaned forward and slid his rook diagonally across the board and captured a pawn. He then removed his own rook.
“Once again, General, you have made a move that I am unfamiliar with.”
“Rook’s Gambit. Once per game the rook can move like any other piece on the board but then it is sacrificed. I’m surprised your programmers left out the latest rule changes. I believe that is checkmate, my friend, or at least will be in three moves.”
“You are correct, General,” Turkey replied.
Cho then turned to the distraught lieutenant. “What’s all this commotion?”
“Well, sir. It’s just that I don’t want to be in the middle of a battle and have one of the systems fail.”
“Don’t talk to me about failing systems, Fish-Boy!” the general yelled. “How do you think I lost this arm? That was back in ’14 and I was commanding a Mark XXVIII. Not a bad unit, the XXVIII, but not up to the XXX’s standards. Anyway, we had the Melconians on the run, like usual, when we took a direct hit on the starboard hull, just below the mizzen mortar, and the damn lateral stabilizer failed. Slammed me against the rail so hard my right arm was shredded.”
“Why don’t you use a prosthetic, sir? I hear they work better than the real thing.”
“I got one of them things at home; use it as a back scratcher. Nope, never liked it. Gives me a rash. Anyway, don’t worry about the systems. John says they should all work just fine when he’s done.”
“Um, excuse me, sir, but I don’t think Private Lawlor is qualified for this unit. I mean, well, isn’t he responsible for maintaining the rover also?”
“Yeah, he sure loves that thing.” The general smiled. “You’re lucky he let you drive it. He’s pretty particular about that. But I guess he really didn’t have a choice.”
He’s lucky I didn’t dump it into the river, Sean thought. “But about the testing . . .”
“Lawlor says he needs a hand outside. Go see what you can do to help.”
Petrik was about to protest but he saw that look again and just saluted. “Yes, General.”
The mechanic was under the Bolo finishing up a seam weld with a laser pistol. Sean admired his dexterity and complete absorption in the task. When it was completed he called out. “Private Lawlor! I’d like a word with you.”
Lawlor removed his face plate and put it on the ground with the rest of his equipment, then sauntered over, wiping sweat from his forehead. “As many words as you like, L.T. It’s your credits. Anyway, I could use the break.”
“Nice job you did on that seam. Looks like new.”
“Better than new. That’s pure durachrome solder I was using. If his belly splits, it won’t be at that seam.”
“Anyway, the general sent me out to see if you need a hand. I can see that you do, but, before I start, can you give me the lowdown? What’s happening around here?”
“I guess you already know about the invasion. About three years ago the first wave of Kruds landed and got their asses kicked by your Bolos.”