A Learning Experience 2: Hard Lessons (28 page)

Martin shivered at the memory, then forced the thought aside as brilliant streaks of light rose up from the planet towards him.  The PDCs were firing, trying to wipe out as many of the Marines as they could before it was too late and they were safely on the ground, able to use their weapons.  Martin shuddered, then drew on his implants to help him relax.  He hated, truly hated, being helpless ... and he was helpless, here and now, to do anything to save himself.  A single hit would be more than enough to kill him outright.

A flash of light, on the ground, marked the death of one of the PDCs.  Two more followed, but the remainder kept firing, all the more desperate now as they knew they were being hunted by the orbiting starships.  Martin cursed under his breath as death icons popped up in front of his eyes, including one belonging to Corporal Garland.  He’d been so huge that he’d seemed to have muscles on his muscles, a man who had once taken on two of his fellows and won.  And now he was dead, swatted out of existence like an ant crushed under a boot ...

I'm sorry
, Martin thought.  There would be time to mourn later. 
I will miss you ...

The ground came up underneath him with staggering speed, faint markings below him becoming the giant storage complex.  Simulations or no simulations, he hadn't really grasped how huge it was until he’d seen it in person.  He’d thought Camp Mons, on Mars, had been staggeringly huge, but the storage dump was far larger.  Suddenly, on a very basic level, he grasped the sheer size of the Tokomak Empire.  Their technology might be inferior, their crews might be poorly trained ... and yet they had a sheer preponderance of mass that had a quality all of its own.  They could just keep pouring starships on Earth until Earth ran out of weapons to kill them.

He braced himself as his feet struck the ground, then looked around.  A line of aliens wearing suits of their own were running towards the Marines, firing as they came.  They must have been desperate, Martin noted as he hit the ground; by remaining upright, they were exposing themselves to being hit.  The Marines opened fire, picking off four of them before the remainder hit the deck themselves, then kept crawling forward.  Martin crawled forward himself, then came face-to-face with one of the aliens.  The alien lifted his weapon, but it was too late.  Martin killed him, then crawled around his corpse and kept moving.

The Marines rapidly pushed their enemy back, until they finally held the airlocks leading into the storage dump.  Martin led the way into the building, unsure what to expect inside.  It was nothing more than a colossal warehouse, tended by three different kinds of alien, none of them Tokomak.  The Tokomak themselves had probably been doing nothing more than supervising, he guessed, based on some of the stores he recalled from Earth.  A minimum wage-earner could be pressed to do everything, while the owner sat back and watched.

He keyed his megaphone.  “STAND BY THE WALLS,” he ordered, in Galactic Standard.  The Tokomak had created the language, he’d been told; human analysts had noted that it made Newspeak – whatever that was – look totally ineffectual.  They’d done their best to ensure that the language supported their primacy at all times, making it hard for adherents to even formulate an opposing concept.  “REMAIN CALM AND YOU WILL NOT BE HURT.”

Most of the aliens obeyed.  The few who didn't either tried to flee into the complex or attack the Marines, a suicidal gesture as the Marines were wearing combat armour.  They were quickly stunned, then stacked alongside the walls for later recovery.  Martin shook his head, trying not to think about how many slaves on Earth had been willing participants in their own slavery, then advanced forward.  The sheer scale of the factory was mind-boggling.  There were enough supplies, he was sure, to keep an entire planetary system going for years.

But how many of them
, he asked himself, as they tracked down and rounded up the remaining workers,
are usable
?

“The spaceport is secure,” a voice said.  Martin’s implants identified the speaker as Captain Jackson.  “We have the freighters and their crews under guard.”

“Good,” Commodore Travis said.  “And the storage dumps themselves?”

“Secure,” Lieutenant Robbins said.  “Their datanet is under our control.  I’ve got a crew doing a datadump now.”

She switched back to the platoon channel.  “Herd the alien prisoners into the unloading chamber,” she ordered.  “It will serve as a place to hold them until we sweep the rest of the complex.”

“Understood,” Martin said.

The aliens offered no resistance.  Most of them were silent, staring at the Marines as though they came from a whole other universe.  It wasn't a bad thought, Martin figured, as he checked the aliens for weapons.  They had believed that no one would ever challenge the Tokomak, let alone raid one of their bases.  Hades had been protected by their reputation far more than it had been protected by their starships.  But, when challenged, their reputation had melted like snowflakes in hell.

He took a moment to skim the datadump from the local computer network.  There were literally millions of components listed, too many for anyone to handle without modern technology.  It was staggeringly impressive, all the more so as it represented a tiny percentage of what – in theory – the Tokomak should be able to do.  He shook his head in disbelief, then returned to watching the prisoners.  God alone knew what they would do if it dawned on them that their masters were no longer unbeatable.

“Douglas, you’re being promoted to Corporal,” Robbins said, suddenly.  “I’ve had to surrender Charlie and Severus to 5
th
Platoon, so you’ll have one of the slots.  Try to remember that the newcomers are reserves, not maggots.  They know more than you, even if you outrank them.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Martin said.  “And thank you.”

“Thank me if you get confirmed,” Robbins added.  “You’re still quite young for any form of promotion.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Solar Union flatly refused to pay any kind of compensation to people wounded or killed by Solar Union troops in the wake of anti-war riots that shook multiple capital cities around the world.  Following on from his previous statement, President Ross reminded the protesters that embassies are, by international law, the sovereign territory of the nations they represent and, if the local authorities are unable to do so, may be defended by the owners with all necessary force.  Protesters stupid enough not to take that into account, he added, are too moronic to be allowed to live
.

-Solar News Network, Year 53

“So,” Commodore Travis said.  “What do you have for me?”

Yolanda glanced down at her datapad, trying to control her thoughts.  Commander Gregory had assigned her to assist the crews cataloguing and removing the Tokomak supplies, but she honestly wasn't sure if it was a reward or a punishment.  Clearly, they needed to get as much away from the planet as they could, but – on the other hand – shouldn't she be returning to her simulations?  Or did the Commander feel she had spent too long practising for increasingly unlikely situations?

“I have a complete manifest of their supplies now,” she said.  “Do you want the entire list or just the highlights?”

“The highlights,” the Commodore said.  For someone who had won the most one-sided naval victory in galactic history, at least since the establishment of the Tokomak Empire, he didn't seem very cheerful.  “And the items the logistic technicians want us to steal.”

“Several hundred thousand missiles, complete with penetrator warheads,” Yolanda said.  “The tactical analysts believe they were meant for planetary bombardment.”

“Almost certainly,” the Commodore agreed.  There was literally no point in using long-range missiles in a ship-to-ship engagement.  If a ship felt it was about to be destroyed, it could simply drop into FTL and run.  But a planet, which couldn't run and hide, could be hammered into submission, if necessary.  “Next?”

“Millions of spare parts, although quite a few of them are more cosmetic than useful,” Yolanda said, glancing down at the datapad.  “There are also hundreds of nanotech kits for starship decoration and other oddities.  I checked them against the database and it said they were for victory celebrations.”

“So they brought flags for us to wave,” the Commodore said, slowly.  He smiled, as if remembering something bitterly amusing.  “I assume they brought humanitarian supplies too?”

“No, sir,” Yolanda said.  She didn't understand his meaning.  “They brought some medical gear, but most of it is specifically designed for Tokomak and would need reprogramming before anyone else could use it.”

“Never mind,” the Commodore said.  “Weapons?  Computer gear?  Body bags?”

“They stockpiled charger packs for weapons, but few actual weapons apart from the missiles,” Yolanda said.  “We didn't find any body bags, sir; do the Galactics use them?”

“Not until now,” the Commodore said.  He looked up, meeting her eyes.  “What do
you
make of the stockpile?”

Yolanda hesitated.  “The analysts say ...”

“Not the analysts,” the Commodore said.  “What do
you
make of it?”

“I think they are confident of victory,” Yolanda said.  “And I think they don't know what they’re facing.”

The Commodore’s eyes never left her face.  “Why?”

“Because they stockpiled weapons for attacking a planet, not a fleet,” Yolanda said.  “They were barely prepared for ship-to-ship combat, even here, guarding a stockpile half the galaxy would want to steal.  They’re not planning on the assumption of meeting serious resistance, sir.  I think their plan is to waltz up to Earth, launch enough missiles to turn the entire planet into a radioactive wasteland, then go home.”

“Maybe,” the Commodore said.  “Or they could have decided not to put all of their eggs in one basket.  They’re planning to move against the Coalition, after all, and they
do
know the Coalition has a fleet.”

Yolanda nodded, embarrassed.

“They may feel the Coalition would surrender after the Tokomak appear in their system,” the Commodore added, “but surely they’d feel better if they had a big stick ready to enforce their words.”

“Yes, sir,” Yolanda said.  If the Coalition was challenged, the Coalition might just open fire ... and discover just how ill-prepared the Tokomak were for modern war.  And, at that point, the Tokomak hegemony would start to unravel.  “But now ... won’t the galaxy know what
we
did?”

“Oh, yes,” the Commodore said.  “They
will
know what we did.  And
that
will blow the bloody doors right off.”

He took the datapad, then smiled at her.  “Dismissed, Ensign,” he said.  “I believe Commander Gregory wishes to see you.”

“Yes, sir,” Yolanda said.  She would have preferred to sleep, with or without Martin, but there was no time.  The crew was working overtime just to get the freighters loaded and away from Hades by the time the Tokomak responded to the attack.  Even with half of the supplies being classed as useless, there were still plenty of items Earth could use buried amidst the garbage.  “And thank you.”

She saluted, then walked out of the compartment and back up to Officer Country.  Her implants told her that Commander Gregory was in her office, so Yolanda paused outside the hatch and pressed her hand against the scanner.  A long moment passed, then the hatch opened, revealing a tired-looking Commander Gregory seated at her desk.  Yolanda stepped inside, allowing the hatch to hiss closed behind her, and stood to attention. 

Commander Gregory looked up.  “Relax, Ensign,” she said.  “You’re not in trouble.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Yolanda said.

“You did well in combat,” Commander Gregory added, after a moment.  “The Captain was very pleased with you.  So was the Commodore.”

Yolanda swallowed, nervously.

“You are hereby promoted to Lieutenant,” Commander Gregory said, almost casually.  She picked a small box off the table and passed it to Yolanda.  “You may now don the rank pips, if you wish.”

It took Yolanda a moment to realise what she’d been told.  “I’m ... I’m being promoted?”

“I suppose it does sound unbelievable,” Commander Gregory said, snidely.  She grinned at Yolanda’s stunned expression.  “You’ve done well, both in actual combat and in ... the other tasks of managing a starship, so I had no hesitation in recommending you for promotion.  You will, of course, be expected to live up to this honour,
Lieutenant
.  I will not prove forgiving if you screw up or abuse your authority.”

She smiled again, then sobered.  “The Solar Navy doesn't have many officers with actual space combat experience,” she added.  “We were careful to try to avoid major conflict with any of the Galactics, apart from the Horde and other scavengers.  Experienced officers like yourself are going to be worth their weight in compressed antimatter, now we’ve finally stepped onto the galactic stage.  I think you will probably be transferred to another ship soon enough, once we have time for a proper reorganisation.”

“Yes, Commander,” Yolanda said.

“You won’t get a bigger cabin yet,” Commander Gregory added.  “Not that anyone
really
has a big cabin on this ship, anyway.”

That was true, Yolanda knew.  The Captain and the Commodore had enough room to swing a cat, but everyone else had a small compartment or had to double up with another officer.  It was odd, given the sheer scale of the quarters available to Tokomak officers, yet she had a feeling it helped to concentrate a few minds.  Besides, VR could create the illusion that one was living in a palace, with a harem of nude servants, or any other illusion one fancied.  It wasn't as if an officer
needed
a huge compartment to himself.

“I ...”

“Just remember not to throw your weight around too much,” Commander Gregory warned, darkly.  “And you still have plenty of work to do.”

“Yes, Commander,” Yolanda said.

“Take ten minutes to recover, then report to the simulation chambers,” Commander Gregory ordered.  “We have some new scenarios based on their war plans, such as they were.  And some interesting potential uses for pieces of alien technology.”

***

It had taken several hours of careful argument, but eventually the Marines had been able to convince most of the aliens to assist the humans in stripping the storage dump of supplies and transferring them to the captured freighters.  There really wasn't much of a choice, Martin knew; the aliens had been trained to use the equipment, which was specifically designed for their physiologies.  The Marines couldn't have used it without real problems, which would have delayed operations too far.  But some of the Commodore’s decisions seemed to be delaying matters too.

“You have a question, Corporal?”  Lieutenant Robbins asked.  The breather she wore on her face made it harder for him to make out her words.  “You’re hanging there as if you have something you want to say.”

Martin hesitated, then nodded.  “Why are we stealing their missiles, Lieutenant?”

“Because the Commodore wants us to take them,” Robbins said, shortly.  She was a good Marine, everyone agreed, but she had a tendency to be sharp when asked stupid questions – or questions she considered to be stupid.  “And his orders stand.”

“But ...”  Martin stepped aside to allow another missile rack to be moved to the freighters, then looked back at the Lieutenant.  “We can't use these missiles, can we?”

“You never know when you might want to bombard a planet,” Robbins said, evasively.  “And besides, better we have them than the alternative.”

“But we can’t use them,” Martin said.

Lieutenant Robbins smiled, lightly.  “The Commodore had years of service in the wet-navy, then fifty-plus years of service in the Solar Navy,” she said.  “I think he probably knows what he’s doing.  Just because the order didn't seem to make sense doesn’t mean that it’s stupid, Corporal.  The people at the top often have a better idea of the big picture than the people on the ground.”

Martin frowned, remembering some of the exercises they’d been forced to undergo, purely to draw the lesson that the people at the top
didn't
always know what was going on at the bottom.  He’d never heard of the concept of micromanagement before he’d left Earth, but now he understood that it represented a temptation senior officers had to resist.  It was easy – far too easy – to move Marines around like pieces on a chessboard ... and ignore the fact that the landscape didn't
work
like a chessboard.  A Marine standing where he was ordered to stand might be exposed to enemy fire, while – left to his own devices – he could find cover and fire back.  It had taken him some time to understand that they were getting taught what to avoid, with senior officers deliberately making mistakes to force them to learn the hard way.

Robbins pointed a finger at his nose.  “And, to add to that, the Commodore is the Commodore,” she added.  “Your job is to supervise the loading and then prepare to be evacuated, before we blow the rest of the complex.  Or you
could
write him a tactical memo, telling him what you think.  I’m sure he’d be very pleased to hear from you.”

Martin winced.  She hadn't even
tried
to hide the sarcasm.

He shook his head, then turned his attention back to the freighters.  The Tokomak had moved enough ships to Hades to lift enough supplies to keep an entire fleet operating for years, apart from a handful of curious exceptions.  It baffled him to think that someone could have ruled the galaxy for so long and yet not bothered to re-examine their security arrangements, every so often.  No human power had remained intact and stable for so long.  But the Tokomak had managed to convince the entire galaxy that they were effectively invincible, that resistance was not only futile, but just plain stupid.

“You’ll be going back to the ship at the end of this shift,” Robbins said.  “We have orders to allow some others a chance to relax down here.”