“I am transversing the mountains near Kennis Peak,” the Bolo said. “Over the last few hours I have encountered only scattered enemy armored units. I have confirmed destroyed six Toro tanks, two fast marauders, and four armored personnel carriers.”
Keil took note on the map where the Bolo was. “Good work,” Kiel said. “Anything that would lead you to believe there is something else going on in the area?”
“There is,” Kal said. “I have detected seismic readings indicating that a large armored force may be in the area, but the heavy metals in the mountains nearby scramble my sensors. I am unable to locate them, or even confirm their existence at this time.”
Kiel shook his head as he stared at the mountains around Kal’s position. “Not good news at all. We’re running out of time here.”
“Why is that, General?” Kal asked.
“My friends in headquarters tell me the unofficial word is that a massive Melconian movement is underway. The Bolo regiments here could be recalled unless there is substantial evidence that the Kezdai can be driven from Delas in short order.”
“Logical,” Kal said. “But not practical.”
“True,” Kiel said. He quickly fed rendezvous coordinates to Kal. “Make the best speed there. It’s time to stop playing spy and just fight.”
Kiel slipped of his headphone and turned around. Lieutenant Veck was standing just inside the door, and from the look on the kid’s face, he had heard the conversation.
“Why weren’t we all told?” Veck asked, stepping forward.
“Nothing to tell, officially,” Kiel said. “And I’m in charge here. I don’t have to tell you anything I don’t feel you need to know.”
Veck nodded, but clearly wasn’t happy. And right now Kiel needed his people on their toes, not worried about being pulled off the planet at any minute.
“Besides,” Kiel said, “the information I got is off the record. It could just be rumor or misinformation.”
“But you believe that it is accurate, don’t you?”
Kiel had to admit that he did. He laughed. “Looks like you’ll get to the `real war’ faster than you imagined.”
“Is this all because of my mistakes?” Veck asked.
“You really do have the guilt going, don’t you?” Kiel asked.
Veck said nothing.
Kiel knew that Veck was barely surviving the guilt of killing his best friend and destroying a Bolo and transport ship. It would be years before he was completely past it, but at the moment Kiel wasn’t going to let the kid swim in his own self-pity.
“Look, Lieutenant, it’s just politics and nothing more. But to be honest with you, I don’t much like the idea of losing a war for any reason. But especially because some politician lost his backbone.”
“That I agree with,” Veck said.
“And besides,” Kiel said. “withdrawal will not be easy, even if it was ordered. From what I’ve seen of the Kezdai, I don’t think they’ll just sit back and let us go. Do you?”
Veck shook his head. Clearly the thought was one he hadn’t gotten to yet.
“They’ll be fighting us on all fronts,” Kiel said, “with diminishing resources on our side, until the last transport lifts off or is blown to rubble.”
Veck was almost white trying to imagine the scenario that Kiel was painting.
“We get pulled back and we’ll be lucky to leave Delas with half a regiment, much less two.”
“So what do we do?” Veck asked.
“We win this thing now,” Kiel said. “It’s just damn near our only option.”
* * *
My research has been most productive. The flux control coils on my Hellrails are damaged beyond repair, preventing normal operation, but a buss short across selected circuits will pass through the damaged coil, energizing plasma vented though my secondary relief valves. The plasma will be contained in a constricted beam until the Hellrails’ generators fire. In an accident during testing, this failure resulted in a low-yield fusion explosion one hundred and ninety meters from the weapon muzzle.
I believe that by adjusting the parameters, I can control both distance and explosive yield, and that I can achieve an explosion rate of one point two per second. It is vital that my attempts at control are successful. The failure incident on which I am basing this effort destroyed the test weapon, two observation bunkers, and killed fifteen technicians, an observer, and a member of the Concordiat senate.
Though this discovery was interesting, it was not obvious how it could be used for propulsion. Then, in my Terran historical archives, I located a reference to an obscure fission space drive proposed at the dawn of the atomic age. It was code named: Project Orion.
* * *
It was late in the shift, and Bendra’s eyes burned and watered. His body ached from lack of motion. The others in the room looked like he felt. But he could only let his attention wander for a moment. He looked back into the holotank, manipulating the controls, looking for something, anything, unusual.
Bendra was weary and sick of his task. He knew that they could as easily have a machine perform this sort of routine scanning, but it was deemed too menial even to be assigned to a device. Let a low-born do it. That is what they would say. Do not waste a good machine.
It was at these times he treasured the mystery object. He could refocus his tank on it, check its readings, and speculate about what it was. This small mystery kept him sane on nights like this.
He touched the controls.
Yes, there it was. He checked the orbit and saw that it had not deviated appreciably, nor were there any especially unusual readings. It was slightly warmer than he would have expected, but that could be explained by residual radioactivity.
He chattered his beak in annoyance. It could at least do something interesting.
And it was interesting that the object picked exactly that moment to explode.
He blinked and shook his head. But he had not imagined it, a broad spectrum pulse right down to hard neutrons. A nuclear explosion then.
He looked for wreckage from the object and could not find any. Had it merely been vaporized?
Then there was a second explosion some distance away. This second one was less intense than the first. Then, moments later, a third.
He realized that the explosions formed a line, nuclear shock waves like beads on a string.
Then another.
And another.
And another.
Now he knew what he was looking for. The radiation and flash made it difficult, but he found it, a small object moving away from the lead explosion, and the clear source of the next one when it came.
The object was accelerating rapidly.
Bendra considered.
It did not fit the parameters of any ship or weapon the Kezdai knew of, but it seemed potentially dangerous. Certainly, it was moving by design, and not by accident.
He hissed his annoyance, and the monitors near him turned to stare. He didn’t care. This thing could kill them all. He couldn’t afford to simply sit and watch it.
His hand went to the intercom panel. He connected with the Is-Kaldai’s Arbiter and asked to be connected to Vatsha. The voice in his earphone was clearly annoyed. “What business, low-born?”
“I must alert the blood-sister to a danger we have earlier discussed.”
If the Arbiter remembered their previous conversation, he gave no sign. “Even if I cared to bother her, low-born, I could not. She has left by shuttle with the Is-Kaldai to board Blade of Kevv as soon as it arrives in local space. The Human forces are on the move. The offensive has begun. Glorious day.”
Eight
The first explosion nearly destroyed me.
It was both closer and more powerful than I expected. Only my remaining ablative armor tiles saved me. As it is, I have lost several secondary systems, and my other main turret is frozen. But I have learned from my mistakes. I analyzed my data, reran my simulations, and my second explosion was more accurately controlled.
Within two minutes I was controlling the yield within 0.35 percent, and distance within 1.88 percent. Since then I have stumbled on a compression effect that seems to allow the forward shock wave from one explosion to compress the plasma for the next. This vastly increases efficiency and allows me to more than triple my anticipated explosion rate.
My secondary batteries are proving effective for attitude control, but I will need to allocate my ammunition wisely. My average acceleration is now 3.6 standard gravities.
I am a spacecraft.
But not without cost.
The pounding to my systems is incredible, and my forward armor, which is acting as a thrust plate to absorb the shock wave and turn it into thrust, is boiling away layer by microscopic layer. Microscopic stress cracks are forming through all my frame members and plates. I will arrive at Delas, but my ability to fight when I arrive, even after major refit, is increasingly questionable.