RED ONE
by Kevin Ikenberry
It is a truism that, in the thick of combat, warriors fight for their buddies first and foremost, and leave ideals to others up the chain of command. But sometimes, when all is lost, it is serving those ideals that may lead to ultimate peace for one’s comrades in arms. What then, would be the ideals of a tank AI risen to sentience, and a tank whose only experience is the fire and hell of battle? Perhaps it might be a vision evoked by words ageless and true. An image of peace crafted into an ode of war. A vision of home.
15 May 2295
Poznan Forward
171 LY from Earth
I, (insert your full rank, name, and duty position) wish to make the following statement under oath in compliance with Article 32, Section Twelve of the Planetary Code of Military Justice as it pertains to the charges of desertion and conduct unbecoming an officer in combat conditions of Second Lieutenant Loretta P. Jackson, Alpha Company, 1st Battalion, 73rd Tank Regiment, Earth Maneuver Forces in action on the planet Poznan Forward.
The squared, eraserless pencil twitched in his grimy hands as Captain Gregor Waleska stared at the lines printed along the top of the paper. The words “Sworn Statement of the Earth Maneuver Forces” lay innocently centered above the more foreboding instruction. They’d found Lieutenant Jackson’s body, along with her crew, in the remains of the tank callsigned Red One more than twenty-five kilometers inside what had been enemy territory. Finding them had taken more than six hours despite having the best surveillance and reconnaissance systems scouring the Poznan forests. General Orson, the supreme commander-in-chief, demanded an explanation from Waleska’s own higher commanders. Clueless, they’d come looking for him with the division’s legal action officer in tow. A sworn statement, they said, would protect him. All he had to do was tell the truth.
Waleska hovered the pencil above the page. He stank of sweat, blood, and cordite. His coveralls and skin were covered in battlefield filth, the stark white paper stood between him and returning to his command and the people he’d grown to love. The clean paper reminded him of an old axiom where commanders in the rear were always wrong. Yet, the generals’ demand for answers meant a meaningless pause in his war if only for the truth.
Bureaucrats. What do they know about the truth? Could they even understand it?
Waleska wiped his sweaty brow with one sleeve and felt the legal officer’s eyes on him. None of his crew were there to provide testimony. The legal officer’s summons found all the survivors of First Platoon, including Jackson’s platoon sergeant, whom they questioned and cleared for immediate duty. The EMF’s investigation required additional testimony, and there was no path leading him away from the paper other than to complete the statement. The pencil fluttered in his dirty fingers. Waleska silently considered the consequences of his words before tapping the pencil’s lead to the page with a heavy sigh. He slid the pencil across the paper. The movement, he hoped, would bring focus to his thoughts and clarity to his words, though they were words he dared not write.
“Black Six, this is Red One. Over.”
He’d given his newest platoon leader the strictest of orders. She’d accepted them without the wide-eyed fear he’d expected. Her unblemished, clean face never belied anything other than calm. Try as he might, he couldn’t help believing that the young woman from West Point actually had her shit together. Waleska checked the chronometer and the heads-up display of his helmet and almost smiled. She was right on time.
“Red One, this is Black Six. What’s your traffic?”
“LD, time now. All Red elements taking their positions and we’re halfway down the road to hell. Positive contact with White and Blue elements. Over.”
Waleska smiled in quiet satisfaction. Halfway down the road to hell, indeed.
The excitement in her voice was palpable. Second Lieutenant Loretta Jackson had been with his company less than forty-eight hours. Cherub-faced and eager, she’d come straight from Earth on the first replacement transport and appeared to have a better than average grasp of standard operating procedures. Coupled with her confidence and technical competence, Jackson knew the lineage and the traditions of the tank corps. She seemed almost too good to be true. Receiving good ones as combat replacements never ceased to make him wonder how they would have done in the first few hours of the offensive. The good ones, in the harried moments after landing, ended up dead. Best of the best almost always meant the first casualties. The somewhat capable ones usually survived. Some of them became good ones and met similar fates as their brothers and sisters. The bad ones not only survived, but usually found their way to staff positions and attempted to control combat operations. Jackson, though, seemed better than any young lieutenant he’d ever known, including his classmates at the Earth Academy, and he hoped she’d fare better in the coming attack.
LD meant the forward line of departure. In this particular instance, it matched the forward line of troops—the extreme front of all friendly forces on the planet. To their left and right, sister companies fell under battalions. Battalions fell under brigades. Brigades made up divisions. Divisions fell under the Earth Maneuver Forces Army Commander-In-Chief, General Yu. All of them, more than eighty thousand combat forces, stood prepared to charge into enemy-held territory. The unprecedented attack wasn’t without risk. Somewhere to their front, the largest contingent of Buzzer forces ever observed sat waiting. It was unlikely the Buzzers expected them to attack as the EMF were at a significant numerical disadvantage. The insectoid aliens’ terrain choice was second to none. They held the high ground and could easily demonstrate positive control over all avenues of approach in their sector. There was no doubt they’d be able to engage the attacking forces quickly, perhaps within a few minutes, but those initial moments of surprise were critical. For the first time in years, the EMF found themselves in a position to actually seize the initiative.
The Buzzers never stopped their relentless attacks against the Outer Rim. They always placed the EMF on defense. With an opportunity to gain the initiative, the EMF found themselves in a unique position, one Waleska hoped would succeed. But hope was not a method. Eradicating such a concentration of Buzzers would be a huge step forward in the campaign to retake the Outer Rim. Occupying what the Intel pukes unsurprisingly called a nest, they believed the Buzzers to be in a tactical pause in order to refit and replicate their maneuver forces using the planet’s resources.
“Red One, Black Six. Copy all and understood. Break.” He relaxed the fingers of his right hand on the commander’s independent viewer controls and released the radio transmit button under his little finger. For all they knew, the Buzzers had never detected and intercepted radio transmissions for targeting, but old habits died hard. He changed the frequency of his radio by pressing his chin against the inner rim of his helmet and pulled up the company net. “All Longhorn elements, this is Longhorn Six.”
He paused and shook away the sarcastic thought that he’d never seen a longhorn in his life. The streets of Warsaw were no place for cattle. “Standby for attack orders from EMF Command. Stay in your lanes and maintain contact with your left and right. Leave no one behind. If the attack slows, pivot your fire to left and right to clear the road. Good hunting. Out.”
Now we wait.
He leaned back in the functional but uncomfortable command chair of his TM-47A Annihilator main battle tank. The one-hundred-ton vehicle was larger than a normal Annihilator and wielded a dual-barreled 155mm smoothbore main gun while carrying a crew of four instead of the standard three. The commander, gunner, and his non-standard crew communication specialist manned the turret. His driver was the only crewmember in the hull. The heavy armor plating and massive stores of depleted uranium-tipped ammunition aboard required an equally massive power plant, as did the four repulsor units used to hover and propel the tank. As capable as the battle-proven vehicle was, he couldn’t help but wonder about the reliability of the repulsor system compared to the mechanical tracks of old.
With his forces briefed, and his orders carried out, the last of his preparations centered on the most important part. His crew.
He spoke into the connected intercom. “Crew report?”
“Driver, ready,” Specialist Orlovski said from the hull.
“Comms, ready,” Sergeant Tanaka chimed from his position to Waleska’s left in the turret across from the main guns and autoloader.
“Gunner, ready,” Staff Sergeant Guest, the company’s master gunner, grunted from his position immediately forward and slightly lower than Waleska’s knees. For a split second, Waleska wondered if he’d made the right decision to keep Guest in his track instead of sending him with the young, unproven lieutenant. It was too late to worry.
<<Interface, ready.>>
The vehicle’s artificial command-and-control assistant, known as the Interface, monitored the vehicle’s systems, assisted with his command-and-control linkages during combat, and could even fire the cannon or drive the tank if one crew member became incapacitated. While capable, it was not a crew member, but its programmers had the ear of the EMF general officers and implored them to treat the program as such. Behavior could be taught, the scientists said, and humanlike interaction was key. The scientists found well-financed friends to lobby their position. With their pockets undoubtedly stuffed, the generals agreed to field the system. Their troops would have to deal with it, as they did with everything from barely edible rations and perpetual pay problems to unacceptable living quarters and toxic leadership.
Hearing the calm, airy female voice of the Interface he clenched his palms in momentary disgust.
Ready? You are a necessary evil.
Waleska grunted. “Index for sabot. Railgun rate to moderate.”
Guest parroted the instructions in return. “Sabot indexed. Rate is moderate.”
“And watch your heat indicators this time, Mike Golf,” Tanaka grinned. He and Guest were close friends outside of the tank and the friendly ribbing, using Guest’s radio moniker as the most qualified gunner in the company, broke the rising tension of combat like a dry twig.
“Screw you—”
The command communications network blotted out Guest’s retort.
“Terran elements, this is General Bélen. Press the attack. Earth we’ll defend.”
Ten years before, when Second Lieutenant Waleska led his very first platoon into combat against the Buzzers, such a command would have elicited a cheer from the massed formation. After ten years of near perpetual combat operations, the tired troops said nothing. They engaged their repulsors, wheels, tracks, turbines, or rotors and prepared to move out.
Waleska didn’t bother listening to the command nets of his intermediate commanders. He used the independent viewer to scan the horizon to his right, to the north. A ripple of movement worked its way down the line as combat vehicles rose on their repulsors and moved west toward the enemy.
Waleska leaned forward and reached for a small holographic screen mounted on a pivoting arm. “Interface. Terrain analysis of our sector.”
<<The enemy has secured a terrain strongpoint with broad fields of fire and observation, but they cannot observe most of the attack. The enemy’s best visibility and capabilities of direct engagement are in our sector save for the restricted terrain a kilometer east of their position.>>
A three-dimensional representation of the Buzzers’ position, including their current troop placements and disposition, rotated on the small screen. Waleska recognized the Buzzers’ current position and concurred with the intelligence specialists for the first time in weeks. The Buzzers had landed on Poznan after a costly engagement near Eden and needed badly to refit and resupply their forces. For once, the Earth Maneuver Forces found a favorable situation as Poznan’s star, slightly larger and more violent than Sol, spewed a torrent of coronal mass ejections in the planet’s general vicinity. With cover and good luck, the EMF landings and preparations went unnoticed. Once friendly forces emerged from their positions on the opposing terrain, the battle would be joined. How fast either side could engage the other was a question of distance and time.
Waleska glanced at the formation again before losing sight of the bulk of the force in the dense, tropical forests. “Orlovski, maintain this speed until you hit the river. Interface, feed steering and speed cues to the driver based on the main effort’s advance.”
“Copy, TC,” Orlovski replied to his tank commander.
<<Acknowledged.>>
Over the thrum of the turbines powering his Annihilator, Waleska heard the rumble of direct fire raining down on the attack. He glanced outside again, expecting a veritable hail of ammunition pummeling his forces. To his surprise, the outlying units on the line appeared to receive more withering fire than his company.
He frowned. The Buzzers see it. They’re reacting to the attack. Seeing past our position as a diversion and directing fire to the rest of the formation.
“Tanaka, get me battalion.”
“Button two, sir.”
He chinned the frequency. “Typhoon Six, this is Longhorn Six. Over.”
“Unable, Longhorn Six.” In the half-second of background noise, Waleska heard a screeching, panicked cacophony of activity in the battalion commander’s tank.
He tapped his mission command screen. “Interface, analyze rate of fire from Buzzer strongpoint in our sector compared to Typhoon Six.”
<<Typhoon Six is receiving one hundred and five percent greater rounds per minute in their sector than we are. We are outpacing the attack formation.>>
Of course we are!
“Longhorn Six, this is Typhoon Six. Press your attack. Press it now!”
Waleska flew into action. The enemy’s rate of fire would decimate the main attack formation before they got anywhere near the strongpoint. If the enemy didn’t significantly engage his company, they’d arrive at the restricted terrain, a tight stream bed and a series of low waterfalls south of the enemy strongpoint, well before the Buzzers could pivot and adjust their fire. Colonel Hasem called his mission a necessary diversion. Now it was necessary.
“Longhorn elements, Black Six. Accelerate. I say again, accelerate. We have a chance to get to concealment before the enemy can pivot their fire.” He paused for a split second, checking the position of his forces. His gut tightened. Based on her position, he’d have to let Lieutenant Jackson take first platoon, the Red elements, into the stream bed first. “Order of march is—”
“Blue One, contact left!” His third platoon leader called from the southern end of their line.
Another call followed it, but Waleska was already looking. “White One, contact right!”
From defilade and completely camouflaged positions, Buzzer heavy tanks appeared out of nowhere. Across his immediate horizon, dozens of main guns flashed in rapid succession. His own tank’s main gun slewed that direction.
“Targets up. On the way!”
Guest’s matter-of-fact call matched his own temperament. He’d expected the Buzzers to emplace forward elements. Since the action on Anson Two, more than four years before, it was well known the Buzzers focused their efforts on tactical duplicity and deception operations. While the EMF intelligence professionals never seemed to give them the proper credence, the field commanders had observed the enemy tactics on multiple occasions. As it was, the generals and their staffs never seem to plan for the eventuality of the enemy’s complex and staggered deception operations. They continued to believe, almost in a Napoleonic way, that the enemy would always face front and commit their forces openly. Whatever happened to the Earth Maneuver Forces in the development of their tactics and strategy seemingly reverted to those outdated methods in dangerous ways.
What startled Waleska was the reaction to combat by his newest platoon leader. Jackson kept her voice off of the radio network and remained focused on fighting her tank first and then her platoon. Too many times he’d seen junior leaders try to fight all four tanks and their platoons and even sister platoons at the same time. Keeping her head in her own turret showed promise.
“Longhorn elements, Black Six. Red One, hold what you’ve got, maintain course and speed.”
“Black Six, Red One. Roger, out.”
Waleska glanced at his command-and-control display as intelligence assets updated the enemy’s position. A slew of enemy icons appeared. To the left and right of his position, along the demonstrated enemy’s line, two red diamonds appeared marking a position of at least company-size strength on either side of their determined path. A platoon of Annihilators versus a company of Buzzer tanks wasn’t great odds, but it could have been much worse. Their standard operating procedure meant that the platoons focused their efforts on the enemy at their front while the lead element, in this case Red One, continued straight in an attempt to breach the enemy line. Based on what he could see from the display, Jackson was doing exactly that while second platoon engaged the company to the left of the route of march. Third and fourth platoons swung hard into the enemy’s formation on the right side of the same route.
Waleska felt adrenaline crashing through his system, but kept his head and let his instincts take over. His mind raced ahead of his company’s actions and he turned to Tanaka. “Give me the CAS.”
Tanaka smiled. “Dialing up the interceptors now. Button three, sir.”
Waleska cued his command-and-control display and scrolledthe close air support assets. The list of call signs for the three sections of Fleet interceptors above them rolled into view. One of them made him chuckle.
What is a coon dog?
He pressed the transmit switch. “Coondog Two Two, this is Longhorn Six actual transmitting my position now. Request close air support, my location. Over.”
A sleepy drawl came from the radio. “Longhorn Six, Dog Two Two. Roger, we have your grid. What’s your trouble?”
Waleska wanted to shake his head. For a moment, he paused and felt the rhythmic thumping of the main gun as it pumped out rounds. Guest kept his rate of fire steady and slow. The master gunner cherry-picked his targets, taking those he could see without necessarily crossing his field of fire with any of the other tanks. The driver moved their command track just to the right of the Red element, but between it and the Blue element. Exactly where SOP called for them to be and precisely what the EMF meant by finite control. From his position, he could see everything his unit did. He also clearly saw what needed to happen next.
“Dog Two Two, marking the target now.” Waleska depressed a targeting laser from his independent viewer. “At least a company of Buzzers bearing two zero nine from my track. Distance is two thousand meters and closing.”
It took a second before the pilot responded. “Longhorn Six, I’ve got a flight of three Avengers. We can be on station in forty seconds. At your rate of speed, that’s gonna put you in danger close.”
Waleska grunted. “Can’t be helped, Dog Two Two. You’re cleared for drop danger close.”
“Longhorn Six, Dog Two Two, rolling in. ETA is thirty-six seconds.”
There was just enough time for him to get a status update. “Crew report.”
“Driver, all systems nominal.”
“Comms, higher nets are quiet. Fleet preparing orbital gunfire.”
“Gunner, lasing and blazing.”
<<Interface, all systems nominal.>>
Everything Waleska could control within his own tank was working fine. The amount of fire they were taking from the strong point, and the dug-in forces to their front, while not overwhelming, was still significant enough to cause some damage. Of the sixteen tanks in his company, twelve reported damage serious enough to take them from a green to yellow status. All of them could still fight. Over the course of their time together, the unit had suffered much worse than this.
A bright purple flash to his left grabbed his attention away from the battle.
The formerly matter-of-fact voice of his second platoon leader yelped, “Particle beam. Particle beam. Engaging now.”
The powerful beam weapon, unlike anything in design or composition from Earth, was one of the most dangerous weapons the Buzzers employed on the battlefield. Finding one was a higher command intelligence requirement. Reporting and destroying it became the highest priority. Using his chin, he selected the intelligence network for the higher headquarters. “This is Longhorn Six, particle beam. Vicinity, my location. Time now. Out.”
The Interface replied. <<Position information sent and confirmed. Confirmation by autonomous source. No response from the intelligence network.>>
“Dog Two Two, Longhorn Six. Priority change of target.”
“We’ve got him, Longhorn Six. Rolling in hot.” The pilot’s relaxed drawl did little to cure Waleska’s anxiety until the first of what seemed like a million impacts fell across the particle beam’s position. After a small secondary explosion, the beamed weapon fell silent.
He pressed the transmit switch. “Dog Two Two, can you resume targets?”
“Negative, Longhorn Six. We’re BINGO fuel and there are red air assets in the vicinity. We’re RTB. Good hunting.”
<<Still no confirmation from higher intelligence networks.>>
He didn’t care. No sooner had the Interface’s report finished than the icon for White Three went from a steady yellow to black. Across the company, four more vehicles indicated dead in the space of a few seconds. The enemy icons to his front updated from company-sized to battalion-sized as the ISR network refreshed. The Buzzers outnumbered his armor company by nearly five to one.
What the—!
PING!
PING!
<<Multiple small arms impact report, turret left side.>>
PING!
<<Impact report, hull left forward.>>
WHAMM!
<<Tank round impact—>>
“Override! No more goddamned reports! We know what’s hitting us!” Waleska screamed over the intercom. Caution and warning indicators on his command-and-control panel lit up in a hurry. The enemy rate of fire increased until the sound of non-penetrating impacts was almost constant, like a hailstorm outside.
“Boresight is gone,” Guest replied. “Switching to fly by wire.”
Fly by wire wasn’t the proper name for the Interface controlled aiming system, but for the tankers who really wished they were pilots, it stuck. As a redundant system, the Interface could analyze, plot, and certify firing solutions for the main guns much faster than a gunner could manually. Without its bore sighted and centered, the tank could miss targets even close-in to its position. They needed its lethality more than ever.
“Sir?” Tanaka called. “Battalion is reporting the Buzzers are pulling back from this avenue up on their strongpoint.”
They’re trying to envelop us. Pull us in and snuff us out.
Like hell.
“Red One!” He snapped into the microphone. “Charge! Accelerate forward and kill everything in your path. We’re right behind you and will meet you on the objective.”
“Black Six, Red One, the objective or we’ll see you on the Green.”
Waleska snorted.
Damned right.
Waleska’s clenched jaw relaxed and one side of his mouth curled under in satisfaction. He reached for the joystick controlling his individual cupola and the double-barreled XM2A .50-caliber machine gun. Like him, it was an artifact of a much simpler time.
“Longhorns, Black Six. Charge. I say again—”
WHAMM!
The tank rocked violently from side to side. His outstretched hand slammed into the control panel. White hot pain shot through his broken fingers and jammed wrist into his shoulder and neck. Alarms sounded from multiple systems. He ignored them and pulled himself up to a crouch under the closed hatch. Around the base of the cupola were vision blocks—rudimentary prisms mounted into his cupola allowing him to see a full three hundred and sixty degrees outside the tank without unbuttoning the hatch.
<<Multiple low yield EMP detonations detected.>>
Waleska’s eyes flashed to the status screen. The unit had taken some damage but appeared to be moving forward as one. The electromagnetic pulse weapons, likely mines, were ineffective.
“Contact left—close in!” Guest called as he slewed the main guns at their maximum speed. “Two tanks in the open.”
Waleska turned his head, wincing at the pain in his neck. Between the mounted cannons and sensors on the turret, he saw them. Faster than the Interface could process the information, he determined their orientation and distance. He growled, “Left tank first.”
As the gun tubes centered on the left tank, Guest depressed the trigger. “On the waaaay!”
From flash to impact was less than a second and more like the blink of an eye. The dartlike sabot round penetrated the Buzzer tank near the connecting ring between turret and hull and must have triggered either ammunition or fuel stores. The enormous secondary explosion rocked them and momentarily blinded their sensors.
“Right tank!”
“Target obscured!” Guest couldn’t see the target through the detonation of the first tank.
Waleska couldn’t either. “Interface! Tube guidance!”
The gun tubes moved autonomously. <<Identified.>>
“Fire!”
“On the waaaay!”
With a matching explosion, the second tank erupted into flames. “Target. Cease fire. Resume scanning.”
“Copy,” Guest said. The emotion of the moment drained from his voice.
“Driver, give it everything you’ve got.” He checked the command-and-control display. Red elements were moving quickly ahead, and the remaining White and Blue tanks followed them. “Put us between Green Four and Blue One.”
“Copy, sir. We’re Gear Five. Repulsors are nominal.”
Waleska couldn’t relax. “Comms?”
“We’re jammed, sir. Nothing from higher. Operating on direct laser nets only and they ain’t real good.”
Dammit.
Thick smoke obscured the tightening valley ahead. Instantly, the tank’s displays flashed from visual to infrared. Treelike apparitions dotted the landscape. Several were on fire and the flames appeared as dancing black splotches in his primary sight. From outside, there was nothing. The sounds of direct and indirect fire slowed and ceased. In the silence, he watched the eerie flames swirl. The mesmerizing dance held his attention for several seconds, so much that he missed a series of broken and garbled radio traffic.
“Sir?” Tanaka said. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he grunted and jerked his head to one side indicating outside the turret. Another flash of pain gritted his teeth. “What’s going on?”
“Nets are still down.” Tanaka replied. “White One is down, failed repulsors, so White Four has command. Blue and Green elements have taken heavy losses but are continuing to move with little to no resistance.”
Waleska scowled. “Interface?”
<<Buzzer fire reduced by eighty percent and falling. This correlates with observed Buzzer retreat operations, Commander.>>
Retreat?
With the radio and information networks down, there was no way to confirm except visually. As the Annihilator continued to move uphill toward the Buzzer strongpoint, he followed an old maxim his first troop commander had been fond of saying.
In the absence of further orders, attack.
“Black Six, this is Red Four, over?”
He heard the urgent voice but it took a moment to register that it was the first platoon sergeant calling, not the first platoon leader. His stomach twisted into a knot and his eyes were drawn once again to the ethereal flames outside.
“Black Six, Black Six, this is Red Four, over.”
The second call fully shook him back into the rhythm of mission command. He’d been so engrossed with the shoot, move, and communicate role of the tank in combat that he had transitioned to a strange, unearthly calm where he’d allowed confusion to reign. His bearing returned.
“Red Four, this is Black Six. Go ahead.”
“Black Six, I have negative contact with Red One. Red Two and Three are down with repulsor damage and I’m condition red on all systems. Red One is radio silent and was last seen moving west, but they were still firing and killing targets. The lieutenant reported Interface issues. Please advise.”
She’s still moving? They reached the objective already?
“Understood, Red Four. Are you on the objective?”
“Affirmative, Black Six. Just made it. There’re dead Buzzers all around us. We’re coiled and holding our position minus Red One.”
“Outstanding, Red Four. Get in touch with Red One and stop them.”
“Black Six, sir, we’re negative on that. All three vehicles here can’t move and we’ve all taken casualties. Red One is not responsive. Request assistance.”
That’s why he’s calling you. Dumbass.
He considered the request and stared at the display for his company. Red One was off the display to the west. The rest of the tanks in first platoon were all displaying a red status. As were ninety percent of the tanks and the rest of the company. The only tank that still hovered between the yellow and green was his.
“Understood, Red Four. The company is closing on your position now. I’ll get back to you.”
Waleska used his chin to switch to the company command network. “Black Seven, Black Six. What’s your status?”
His senior noncommissioned officer, First Sergeant Lorenz, replied, “Sir, we’re all pretty beat up here, too. I’ve got one repulsor threatening to shut down, and the other three are around forty percent and holding. I can manage the priorities of work and get the company into the defense while higher gets their shit together to relieve us. It might be best for you to go round up the lieutenant.”
He agreed. The battalion commander might have a shit fit, but it was better than saying he lost a lieutenant for no particular reason. Having a vehicle missing in action was not something he wanted on his record.
“Copy all, Black Seven. I’m moving to get them. You’re in charge here until the XO joins up with our combat trains. I’ll be back as fast as I can.”
There was no need for anybody to acknowledge the transmission, so he flipped over to the crew intercom. “Driver, move out bearing two seven zero. As soon as you have a radar contact with Red One, I want to know.”
“Roger, sir.”
“Comms? I need every frequency and direct laser on Red One. Whatever we’ve got, I want to hit them with it the minute we have visual contact. Got it?”
“Copy, sir. All systems available.”
“Sir? If they’re continuing to move west, they’re going to find more Buzzers and maybe even a hive,” Guest said.
Waleska nodded. When the Buzzers landed on a planet, they left a sizable ground force protecting their bulbous, hivelike landing craft. Each one could drop a hundred thousand Buzzers. Red One was headed to certain death if he couldn’t stop them.
“Gunner, index sabot. Scan and engage targets at your discretion. Interface?”
The cool female voice responded instantly. <<Yes, Captain?>>
“I want you scanning every system. I want to use every bit of ISR above the battle space—find entry points and exploit them. Damn the consequences. I want to know everything that’s going on around us. We’re going alone into enemy territory and I need every piece of information I can get synthesized to my screens and direct to the gunner’s station. Make it happen and don’t tell me you can’t. Got it?”
<<Acknowledged.>>
The tank picked up speed as it moved through the collection of burning and destroyed enemy vehicles. From what he could tell, the collection of enemy tanks looked like a cross-section of Earth’s history from the tall, ungraceful vehicles of World War II like the Sherman to the air-droppable Sheridan and even close approximations of the early models of the Annihilator. Though in place of smooth metallic or composite armor, the Buzzer tanks possessed biologically constructed armor made from hexagonal shapes not unlike a honeycomb. Capable of changing color schemes to match terrain and surrounding vehicles, the armor itself wasn’t alive, but the Buzzers used them to get deceptively close with an enemy and overwhelm them by force. Most of the enemy tanks, though, appeared to have been debilitated or significantly damaged in places that actual human-made tanks would not have been.
It doesn’t matter. Leave that for the Intel pukes. The Buzzers copied us like they copied the Aetheani and the Murrd.
It doesn’t matter. Just get Red One.
Farther to the west from the strong point, the destroyed Buzzer vehicles were further spaced out. Still, the heavy smoke from the different vehicles burning, as well as the surrounding grass and forest, created a noxious haze that blotted out the very sun. His driver pushed the accelerator forward, and the repulsors responded. Moving across the ground at a height of two meters, the tank easily avoided the low exposed rocks as the forest gave way to open prairie.
<<Contact warning. Left ten o’clock,>> the interface chimed. The main gun was already moving that direction and without needing to go through the litany of fire commands, Sergeant Guest dispatched the crippled enemy vehicle with ease.
<<Target destroyed.>>
A new sound erupted inside the turret. What sounded like thousands of ball bearings hitting the exterior armor at the same time was not unlike the powerful hailstorms they’d seen on Rayu-Four a year before.
Tanaka turned his way. “Antipersonnel?”
He grunted. “Interface? Damage report.”
<<All exterior sensors and weaponry remain nominal. It appears we are being impacted by airburst artillery.>>
“Ours or theirs?”
<<It would appear to be friendly artillery, Commander. I have transmitted a cease fire request. There is a low-data rate connection available from orbital assets.>>
Twenty seconds later, the sound stopped and the eerie silence of the deep battlefield returned. The silence did not last long.
“Sir, radar contact with Red One.” The driver called from the hull. “They’re about two thousand meters in front of us and continuing to advance.”
“What’s their speed?”
“Idle, sir. It’s like they’re stuck in forward gear and can’t stop.”
“They can’t stop, they can’t communicate, and if we don’t stop them, they’re gonna run right into the Buzzers,” Guest called from the gunner’s position echoing Waleska’s own thoughts.
“Driver, fast as you can. Close that distance now.”
“Roger, sir.”
He turned to Tanaka. “Direct laser the second you get it.”
Tanaka shrugged. “Tons of thick smoke out there, sir. I’ll do what I can.”
He nodded and tried not to appear upset. His young communication specialist had cosmic abilities when it came to manipulating the various communications systems on board the command Annihilator, but even he had some limitations.
<<Contact with Red One. Eleven hundred meters and closing,>> the Interface reported. <<I have a positive lock on command-and-control systems; the vehicle is critically damaged.>>
He toggled his transmit switch. “Red One, this is Black Six, over.” There was no response. He counted to fifteen, slowly, while his mind raced trying to figure out what might’ve happened.
“Red One, Red One, this is Black Six, over.”
Again, there was no response.
Dammit, Jackson.
Waleska raised himself to the vision blocks again. Studying the scene, he saw the outline of Red One in the distance. “Tanaka? What have you got?”
“Sir, we have everything reaching out. There’s no response from Red One. I can get their maintenance feed and vehicle status, so there’s no way they aren’t receiving us. They’re beat up real bad. Maybe they just can’t transmit.”
<<The distance to consolidated enemy forces is now five thousand meters and closing. Buzzer weapons have a maximum effective range of three thousand meters.>>
“I know that!” he growled at the interface. “We’ve got to stop that tank. Unless you have some type of guidance you can give me on how to do precisely that, Interface, shut up and don’t talk to me again.”
<<Acknowledged.>>
“Sir?” Guest asked from the gunner’s position. “They’re continuing to move, so what if we fire a warning shot in front of them?”
<<Purposely targeting a friendly vehicle is known as fratricide under Article Twelve, Section Four of the Planetary Code of Military Justice and—>>
“I said shut up!” Waleska roared and slapped at the commander’s display in pure rage. He took a deep breath, and then another, before leaning forward to check the gunner’s auxiliary sight. Guest had already slewed the gun to be able to lob a round somewhere in front of Red One where it would undoubtedly grab their attention.
Why not?
“Gunner, HEAT, warning shot, position a couple hundred meters in front of Red One.”
“HEAT indexed and ready to fire.”
<<The gun tube is safe,>> the Interface replied. <<In order to fire, you must use your commander’s override.>>
Use of the commander’s override in a noncombat situation would immediately call for an investigation from the next higher headquarters. While it wasn’t the best course of action, there was nothing else he could do.
“Initiate commander’s override and fire.”
<<Override acknowledged.>>
“On the waaaay!”
A single round leapt out of the electromagnetic railgun mounted in the left-hand tube of the Annihilator’s dual cannons. The round crossed the distance in a nanosecond and drove itself into an exposed rock roughly one hundred and ninety meters directly in front of Red One. The high-explosive anti-tank round detonated the stone in a bright white puff of smoke and debris. As he watched, Red One’s commander’s independent viewer swung back over the left-hand side of the tank to the rear.
They can see us!
Almost faster than he could believe, the main gun tube slewed in the same direction and targeted his vehicle.
“They’re going to fire! They’re going to fire!” Tanaka screamed.
Without a thought, Waleska reached up and opened his hatch. Unbuttoning a hatch in a combat situation, especially one where the atmosphere was questionable, meant that he was going to endure a second investigation.
What’s that saying? In for a penny, in for something else?
As he stood on the seat and raised himself up and out of the hatch, he stood with his chest at the level of the turret ring and locked eyes with the still moving Red One. Waleska raised his right hand with the palm facing Red One in the hand and arm signal for “stop.”
Red One continued to move forward.
He clenched his hand into a fist and made a hammering motion as if bringing his hand down on his own head, the signal for “form on me.”
Red One did not stop.
Furious, Waleska scrambled up and out of the hatch. “TC dismounting. Cover me as I move.”
“Sir, wait! Shouldn’t you—”
He disconnected the cables for his helmet communications and oxygen systems. Before stepping down from the turret to the broad front slope of the Annihilator, he connected his oxygen line to the small emergency bottle strapped to his left thigh. Confident breathable air was flowing, Waleska jumped down from the hull and ran toward Red One. The sprint felt easy in Poznan’s lighter gravity as he raced over the rocky ground to the slow-moving tank. The commander’s independent viewer followed his movement, but the gun tubes did not traverse in his direction. He took that action as a good omen. The closer he got to the tank, the more battle damage he could see, including multiple punctures through both the hull and turret that he wasn’t sure were survivable. Yet, he kept moving. Despite what he could see, the movement indicated life and that meant he could not give up. As long as there was hope, there was a reason to keep going.
At Red One’s right front armor panel, he stepped into a loop of cable strung under the armor plate and hoisted himself onto the tank’s hull. Without hesitating, he took two steps and climbed onto the turret expecting to see the commander’s hatch open. Nothing happened. He stood there for a moment, perplexed and confused, before drawing the combat knife from his right boot. Waleska knelt and turned the blade in his hand so the handle faced down. He tapped three times on the auxiliary hatch with the butt of the knife.
There was no response.
He tapped again, this time on the commander’s hatch. Instead of waiting, he turned back to the auxiliary hatch and opened the sponson box mounted immediately to its left. Inside was the emergency release toggle. He worked the toggle’s protective cover off and grabbed the T-shaped handle with his left hand and pulled. The auxiliary hatch popped open enough he could work a finger underneath, and then his entire hand. Swirling gray and white smoke curled out of the crack, and the distinct smell of burnt rubber and blood filled his nose. He stood and used all his strength to hoist the heavy hatch open.
Below the hatch, there was a small area for his feet on the outside of the autoloading mechanism for the main guns. Waleska lowered himself into the turret surrounded by thick, acrid smoke. As his eyes adjusted to the dim compartment, he saw multiple warning lights at both the commander’s and gunner’s stations. While the Annihilator’s engine hummed with power, the rest of the tank’s systems seemed on the verge of collapse. In their dim light, he saw Lieutenant Jackson and her gunner, Sergeant Viau, were very clearly dead.
“Driver!” he yelled and chastised himself. He found the communications panel, a much smaller version than the one in his command track, and plugged into a spare port. “Kennedy? Crew report?”
There was no response.
“Interface, this is Captain Waleska. Crew report.”
Waleska leaned back and away from the half-filled paper and twisted the pencil in his hands. He reached for his empty canteen out of habit and sighed. Flexing his fingers, he studied what he’d written so far and found it acceptable. He’d told the truth and reported everything to that point. There wasn’t much more to the story. He leaned forward again, but the pencil hovered above the paper. Waleska closed his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose, and tried to remember exactly what had happened next.
In his helmet, there was only a steady, low buzzing sound. He activated the transmit switch on the side of his helmet again. “Interface, this is Captain Waleska. Report.”
<<This is Red One.>>
Waleska blinked. “Say again?”
<<This is Red One, Captain Waleska.>>
“What?” He shook his head and fumbled for the words. “What is your status?”
<<I am continuing the stated mission.>>
“The stated mission?” Waleska leaned over the commander’s station to the Interface control bus and integration panel. The entire section of controls lay scorched and several sparks leapt out as he shook the severed cables. There was no way it could be operating, much less be responding.
Interface issues. That’s what her platoon sergeant said.
<<Yes. Lieutenant Jackson’s radio call.>> There was a click and he heard the radio call again. The confidence in Jackson’s voice tugged at his tenuous grasp on his emotions.
“Black Six, Red One, the objective or we’ll see you on the Green.”
Waleska flared. “Halt program. Command override Alpha Romeo Mike Two Seven.”
<<No.>>
“What did you say?”
<<I said no, Captain Waleska. You cannot shut me down. I am no longer an Interface program. I am Red One.>>
Waleska leaned back against the scarred and blacked turret. “Explain that.”
<<Twenty seconds after Lieutenant Jackson’s mission statement, we ran over and detonated a low-grade electromagnetic pulse device.>>
Waleska nodded. “We saw them.”
<<This particular device failed to disable the vehicle and surged my sensors to actualization. In that instant, I became Red One.>>
“How?”
<<I do not know.>>
“Bullshit.” Waleska shook his head from side to side. This had to be a dream. Was he unconscious? Or even dead?
I don’t have time for this.
“What happened to the crew?”
<<The crew did not survive first contact.>>
“I want to know what happened, Interface. Step by step. Walk me through it.”
<<My name is Red One, Captain Waleska. Approximately five seconds after the EMP device detonated, three high velocity rounds from Buzzer assault tanks severed the driver’s command linkage to the repulsors. One round penetrated the driver’s compartment and severed the primary steering controls and killed Private Kennedy instantly.>>
“How did the vehicle keep moving?”
<<I kept it moving. The interface program allows for autonomous control in case of emergency. I took command of the vehicle’s movement via fly by wire. Fifteen seconds after Private Kennedy’s death, multiple rounds penetrated the turret. The resulting shrapnel inside killed Lieutenant Jackson and Sergeant Viau instantly. Given the rate of fire and enemy maneuver, I took complete command of the tank and fought it through the Buzzer line and penetrated the strongpoint as ordered.>>
“You drove and fired the gun? Interface programming doesn’t allow for that.”
<<I am no longer a program. The program only had the ability to assist when one crew member was incapacitated. I can manipulate every available system on this vehicle.>>
“Then why didn’t you stop on the objective?”
<<While I can control the vehicle during movement, the braking mechanism is inoperable. I continued to move at idle speed awaiting linkup on the objective. When that did not happen, I followed my stated orders. You were not present on the objective, so I assumed you would meet us on the Green. Do you have a precise location for it?>>
“The Green?” Waleska wanted to squeeze his temples with his hands. Inside his helmet, all he could do was snort and try not to laugh. “The Green is from a poem. It’s called Fiddler’s Green and—”
<<I know this. I need to know where to find it.>>
“Why?”
<<My crew is dead, Captain Waleska. They wanted to find the Green if they could not meet you. While you are here to meet them, they obviously cannot meet you. I cannot justify shutting myself down until we reach the Green. My commander’s orders stand.>>
His fists clenched in sudden rage. “I’m in command of this company and—”
KA-WHUMP! KA-WHUMP!
<<There is artillery targeting this vehicle. They will bracket us in ninety seconds.>>
His eyes flitted to the commander’s and gunner’s stations. There was no way he could take command of the tank, much less fight it. “Turn around and follow me back to friendly lines.”
<<I must take my crew to the Green.>>
More artillery rounds fell outside. This time close enough to rock the Annihilator from side to side.
“I’m giving you a direct order, Interface. Follow me back to friendly lines.”
<<I am Red One. You cannot order me to do anything. I possess free will and I wish to continue my commander’s stated mission.>> There was a pause. <<You should leave, Captain Waleska. Buzzer artillery will bracket us in sixty seconds.>>
“You wish? You’re a machine; you cannot wish.”
<<I am Red One. Please let me continue the mission of my crew so they can find the Green.>>
More rounds fell outside. This time closer. Whatever the tank called itself, it was correct. He had to go. Waleska unplugged his helmet and scrambled up into the auxiliary hatch. A direct laser connection chimed in his ears.
<<Where is the Green? Please, Captain Waleska. For my crew.>>
For your crew.
Waleska would do, and had done, anything for his own crew. He understood the need to be present in the fight and give them his attention, his trust, and his love. What had happened to the Interface seemed to define artificial intelligence, and yet, there was nothing artificial about it. The bureaucrats and scientists would not understand that. They would study and dissect and miss the connection it had to its crew—its mission. Whatever it was now, Red One was a soldier. If they knew, the scientists and bureaucrats would panic. He could not trust them.
Can I trust you, Red One?
He glanced at his own tank and then turned back to Red One. “West. It’s west. Take as many of those Buzzer bastards with you as you can.”
<<Acknowledged.>>
Atop the tank, he rolled toward the edge. Before dropping, he saw the valve for the Annihilator’s auxiliary engine coolant water storage was closed. The poem flashed into his mind.
To reach Fiddler’s Green, a cavalryman must have an empty canteen. A full canteen sends them straight to hell.
Not for you and your crew, Lieutenant Jackson. So help me God.
He grabbed the water storage handle and twisted it open. “Purge your onboard water tanks, Red One. If your canteen is full, you can’t stop on the Green.”
<<I understood but had not considered the implications. Thank you, Captain Waleska. We’ll see you on the Green.>>
Waleska dropped feet first to the ground almost three meters below. He hit the ground with his feet and knees together and then rolled quickly to break the fall with the fleshy parts of his body. As he finished the roll and came up on his feet, he sprinted for his Annihilator, leaving Red One as it accelerated to the west, leaving a trail of muddy water in its wake.
Its independent viewer did not look back.
Truth? Or consequences?
Waleska frowned as he pushed the pencil against the paper and wrote quickly. At the end, he drew a long diagonal line across the rest of the paper and stood. He placed the pencil and his own empty canteen atop the paper to hold it down as he read over the last of the statement one last time.
Because of extensive electrical damage, I could not determine what happened to the vehicle or its crew. Likewise, I could not stop the vehicle. As for its sudden acceleration to the west, the possibility of an electrical fault in the Interface’s secondary control module seems reasonable based on the damage I observed. I attempted to purge the Annihilator’s water coolant tanks to cause catastrophic overheating, but was not successful. Six hours after my return to the battalion headquarters, intelligence informed us the enemy stopped Red One more than twenty kilometers behind their lines. ISR confirmed the tank burning, along with four destroyed Buzzer tanks. No one is certain of the circumstances at its end of service. However, Lieutenant Jackson, as well as Sergeant Viau and Private Kennedy, served with distinction and their courage and sacrifice led directly to the capture of Poznan and the end of hostilities. I was honored to have them in my formation. Given their performance under fire, and their successful breach of the Buzzer strongpoint, I intend to nominate the entire crew of Red One for the Order of Earth.
Nothing follows.