“General,” Veck said, “take a look at the Kezdai troop movements in and around that area. Something just doesn’t look right to me.”
Kiel and Rokoyan quickly studied what Veck had pointed out. It was suddenly clear to Kiel that Veck was again right. The movements didn’t seem logical, even for Kezdai. Though their intelligence about the Kezdai was almost nonexistent, changes in the Kezdai strategy in the last month would indicate some kind of change at the upper command level, either in their methods, in personnel, or both. That much was obvious.
What Veck had pointed out were Kezdai forces transferring away from the area for no good reason. Also there was a fairly large number of Kezdai forces that were simply not accounted for. They might have been transferred to the rear, or rotated off-planet. Kiel just didn’t know. And he needed to before anything moved.
“I agree,” Kiel said to Veck after going over all the information they had again, “that more than likely there is some sort of deception at work here.”
“So what do we do now?” Rokoyan asked.
“We see if we can uncover what the deception is, and the reason for it,” Kiel said, “And then figure out a way to use it to our advantage.”
“And how do we do that?” Rokoyan asked.
“I’ve already dispatched my Bolo, Kal, to explore the area, test the lines there, and come to some conclusions. We should have some answers shortly.”
“You have?” Veck asked.
Kiel laughed. “Why do you think I keep my own pet Bolo, son? It isn’t just because I miss the crash couch, that’s for sure.”
* * *
I know where I am. Moreover, I know where I am going.
A brute force search of my database has located emergency programs for stellar navigation, a three dimensional map of all Concordiat charted space, and a database of basic astronomical data that includes the Delas system.
I also have at my disposal a full range of ballistics programs, including those intended for interplanetary artillery attacks based on low gravity bodies.
From this fragmented information I have cobbled together a workable space navigation system. This effort has required 1.0012 hours, much of it in searching and reconstructing damaged data segments. I was unable to locate one of Sir Isaac Newton’s three laws of motion and it was necessary to reconstruct it by extrapolation.
This is the good news.
I am headed into the sun. To be entirely accurate, my orbit will swing me past Delas first, and will only take me into the photosphere of the local star, but I fully expect that the temperatures there will exceed even the melting point of my endurachrome hull, and that my internals will be melted into scrap long before that.
This is unacceptable.
My options are limited. There are a large number of scenarios through which I could attempt to signal for rescue using my remaining weapons systems, but I have been optically observing fusion drive flares near Delas. Judging from their number and spectral analysis, almost all are enemy ships. Kezdai fleet activity has increased markedly, even over the latest battlefield status report I have been able to recover from my memory. Any attempt to signal is more likely to bring enemy attention than rescue.
It is possible that my counter-grav generators could be used to effect some kind of propulsion or navigation, but the main mobius-wound coils are burned out. Thus I have not wasted processor cycles researching this option.
Sir Isaac’s laws seem to offer the most promising possibilities. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. In this case, it would far more advantageous if the Mark XXXIV Bolo were still equipped with old-style howitzers. My surviving main weapons are energy based and thus are of little utility.
My infinite repeaters are projectile weapons, but lack the necessary power or projectile mass. I have reviewed the various mass objects in my systems, munitions, fluids, gas stores, and so on, that could be ejected for some propulsive effect. All of these, used carefully, might alter my course to avoid the local sun, but they would not get me to Delas. They would not even keep me in the system, as my current orbit will send me back out into endless space.
I recycle all my deductive registers. The problem seems insoluble, but I must keep trying.
Wait.
There is an incoming signal on my coded command frequency.
* * *
Jask glanced at the sleeping form of Lieutenant Orren, then picked up the headset from where he had tossed it. “You’ve got to help me, Ziggy.”
“I will do what I can. Be assured of that.”
Hearing the Bolo’s voice felt good. He didn’t feel so alone with all the Bizzards over the hill. “I’m sorry I got so mad, Ziggy. I’ve just been waiting so long. It gets so lonely here. I’m afraid for Mr. Orren. I can’t— If he— I couldn’t stand it.”
“Has Lieutenant Orren’s condition changed?”
“No,” Jask said. “But I was wrong to get mad at you, Ziggy. I need somebody to talk to. Mom and Dad used to talk to me when I was sad or afraid. They once told me to learn from my mistakes. I made a mistake, Ziggy. I need somebody to help me figure out what to do. I need help bad.”
“What is your problem?”
“It’s the bizzards, Ziggy. They’re back. I saw them. Lots more than ever before.”
“Specify the extent of the Kezdai—bizzard—force.”
“Lots more,” Jask said, seeing the valley swarming with them in his memory. “Maybe millions of them. They have trucks and tanks and big flying things with guns all over them. Some of the tanks are little, and some are big with horns on top that sparkle.”
“Query: Can you verify the number of enemy troops? While the Kezdai have fielded an impressive force, it seems unlikely that they have landed a million troops.”
Jask wanted to shout again, but didn’t. Instead he made his voice very calm. “I didn’t count them, Ziggy. There’s a lot, okay? More than I could count.”
“You have described Kezdai `Toro’ heavy tanks, light armor, and counter-grav gun platforms. Can you estimate the number of the “big tanks with horns on top that sparkle’?”
“A lot.”
“More than a hundred?”
“I can count that high,” Jask said, disgusted. “More than a hundred. Maybe not a lot more, but there were more coming in.”
“Are you under attack?”
“No. They’re in the next valley over. I saw them from the ridge.”
“Have they detected you?”
“I don’t think so. They’re just sitting there, like they’re waiting for something.”
“Do you have freedom of movement?”
“I could leave, but there’s Lieutenant Orren.”
“Can you transport him using Bessy, your—Bolo?”
“That’s how I got him here, but he might be too sick to move. Dad said that when somebody is hurt, you shouldn’t move them unless you have to.”
“There may be little choice.”
“I don’t—”
“I have discovered in my legal banks article 99180.010c of the Concordiat general code, which allows for civilian vehicles to be conscripted for military use during wartime emergency.”
Jask sighed. “Ziggy, you’re using big words again. What does that mean?”
“By the authority vested in me by the Concordiat, Bolo unit “Bessy” is hereby attached to the 1198th Armored Regiment of the Dinochrome Brigade.”
“Bolo! Bessy is a real Bolo now?”
“Legally speaking. I place you in command of this unit also.”
Jask couldn’t believe what had just happened. The Bolo trusted him, just as his dad had trusted him. He could feel the pride and energy coming back. “I’ll get Lieutenant Orren out of here, Ziggy. For the Brigade. I promise.”
“It is an honor to serve with you, Jask. I recommend that you evade the Enemy and attempt to rendezvous with Concordiat forces. I am attempting to come to your location and engage the enemy, but I could be more effective if I were acting in coordination with units of the Brigade. And there is one more thing—”
“What, Ziggy? Anything.” And he meant that.
“Article 99180.010c requires me to notify you that the Concordiat will duly compensate you for use of your vehicle.”
“More big words again, Ziggy,” Jask said. “But don’t worry, I’ll get Lieutenant Orren to safety.”
“Thank you.”
Seven
“Learn from one’s mistakes.”
It is a curiously obvious philosophy, since it underlies the thinking processes of any sentient being. But perhaps there is something to be gained from it after all.
Up until now, I have concentrated on use of my operational weapons systems for propulsion, but I have ignored my most powerful weapons, my 90 megaton Hellrails, because they were damaged. But my maintenance and operation database records over one hundred and sixty-four-thousand operational failure modes. I will reexamine the damage and begin a search of that database—
* * *
“Kal my friend,” General Kiel said into his headset as he sat down in front of the holographic projection of the battlefields. “What have you discovered out there?’