"And now, ladies and gentlemen-Senator-you come to the heart of the Bolo. If you'll step this way, please. Remember to leave all your food and drink outside. And for those of you who still have the habit, no smoking, please." The group tittered politely. The tour guide led the group into the White Room. Workers clad in white overalls moved purposely about, carrying trays and making microscopic examinations. The room smelled antiseptically clean. "It is here that the psychotronic circuits are produced and tested."
The tour guide pointed to racks where completed circuit boards awaited shipment. "Each one of those circuit boards represents a complete- Uh, young man! Oh, you're the Director's son, aren't you? Take your milkshake outside, please. We can't allow any liquids in this room, there's too much danger of-madam, if you'd move aside-NO! Not that way!"
"Well, the lab tests are as extensive as we can make. There appears to be no damage, all the same-" the Test Manager reported.
"No damage? Excellent! I expected that new cleansing agent-what is it called? DK-41-would solve the problem," the Project Manager said.
"Great news! The cost of replacing all those circuits, not to mention the impact on the schedule, would be disastrous," the project's Financial Officer added. He smiled congenially at the others in the austere conference room as he ruminated over the millions that had been saved. The difference between profit and loss.
"Well, I'm still not entirely certain-" the Test Manager hedged. The Financial Officer looked up, eyes widened, and sought the eyes of the Project Manager imploringly.
The Project Manager caught the look and hastily assured the Test Manager, "Don't worry, Ted, we'll keep an eye on 'em through integration."
"I don't see what the fuss is all about, they all passed their final tests with flying colors. Admittedly, they produced unique solutions to problems than we've seen recently, but that could easily reflect the greater-knowledge databases we've endowed them with. No, gentlemen, I believe that the C group of the Mark XVI's is completely ready in all respects for export and assignment," the Project Manager declared cheerfully.
"But their names! Who's ever heard of a Bolo wanting to be christened Das Afrika Korps?" the Test Manager asked.
"That is a bit odd," the Project Manager conceded, "but I see nothing wrong with a Bolo wishing to acquire the tradition and heritage of the US Seventh Army Corps-"
"And Marshal Zhukov of the Soviet Union? And just who the heck is General Corse?"
The Project Manager drummed his fingers on the table top. "Ted, do they pass or not?"
The Test Manager sighed. "They pass, Jim. They just leave me a bit nervous. After all, those were logic circuits that got contaminated."
"And cleaned again with DK-41. No, Ted, you don't have anything to worry about."
"Well, I suppose," the Test Manager agreed with a sigh, "I just wish we'd done more tests with DK-41 before we used it on a production batch."
"You worry too much, Ted," the Project Manager said, "but that's your job."
"There! The first combat results are back for the C batch! Amazing!" the Bolo Division's Strategist exclaimed. "Those software upgrades are certainly something!"
CONFIDENTIAL
FOR BOLO DIVISION INTERNAL USE ONLY
FROM: Manager, Chemical Decontamination
Department
TO: All Managers, Bolo Division
SUBJECT: DK-41 Decontaminant
Recent test results on long-term exposure to DK-41 decontaminant show evidence of sub-layer doping with carbon and iridium carbide. While the implications of these findings are being determined, all managers are advised to discontinue use of DK-41 as a decontaminant immediately.
A war, even the most victorious, is a national misfortune.
-Helmuth Von Moltke
General Danforth von der Heydte, G-1, in charge of personnel, eyed the rusty hulk disdainfully. "This is worth a division?"
"Or three or four," Colonel Rheinhardt, G-3 in charge of operations, replied. "Its effectiveness has not yet been determined."
The group of officers stood at the bottom of a deep excavation. It was night and, under the cover of camouflage netting, lights around the partially excavated war machine illuminated workers frenetically digging. Smells of dark earth and rusted metal mixed in the chill air.
While General von der Heydt kept his distance from the war hulk, Colonel Rheinhardt examined the exposed parts meticulously, noting the inferior quality of the attached bulldozer blade, marvelling at the partially exposed barrel of the Hellbore.
"It will have to be recharged," said General Marius, G-4 in charge of supply. His tone was a mix of proud possessiveness battling against the miserly concern of a bookkeeper.
"The Bolo Model XVI are rumored to have been used in lieu of a full corps in various encounters," General Sliecher, G-2, Intelligence, commented. His cadaverous face, small eyes, hawk nose all lent credence to his professional calling. But his frame was bent, the hair that hung limply on his skull was white. His strength had been whittled away; his intellect remained.
"Hmmph," von der Heydte snorted. "It's missing two of its four tracks-"
"But, fortunately, on either side," Rheinhardt interjected, bending down to peer intently at the remaining tracks. Just like every military officer, Colonel Rheinhardt had read about the Bolos in his classes on military history as a cadet. Later, as an instructor, he had taught strategy and tactics based on several of their more memorable actions. Unlike most other officers, he had always itched for a chance to employ one. Legend even had it that some had been brought to their planet of Freireich over two centuries ago, mostly stripped of weaponry, for use as heavy machinery-earth-movers and the like-not as war machines.
He reached a hand back behind him as he bent lower. "Major."
Major Krüger, his blond lantern-jawed aide, wordlessly placed a handlight in the outstretched hand.
Colonel Rheinhardt, Chief of Operations for the Bayerische KriegsArmee, soon became bespattled with dirt and mud as he pored minutely over the exposed expanse of armored track. His lithe body moved with a wiriness that belied the silver which crowned both temples. His movements were not the precise controlled movements of a man tired with age, nor were they the quick darting movements of a youth careless with his energy. His inspection over, the Colonel returned the handlight to the orderly, straightened up within arm's distance of the ancient war machine, and without seeming to, carefully removed the dirt on his uniform. Shortly he was again immaculate, proud and ready for action.
Von der Heydte glared sourly at the G-3, continuing, "Who knows what shape its weapons are in, or even if it has any-"
"We've recovered some weaponry as well," General Sliecher supplied.
"And how are we going to recharge it?" von der Heydte demanded.
"Our records indicate that it can take a direct charge from our electrical grid. We shall recharge it at our Grammersdorf nuclear reactor," General of the KriegsArmee Kurt Marcks replied. "Really, Dan, you must leave operations to myself and Karl."
General von der Heydte eyed the young Colonel Rheinhardt with the same disdainful glare he had previously bestowed upon the Bolo. But his words to General Marcks, his commander, were obedient. "As you wish, Herr General."
Von der Heydte snapped for an orderly to help him out of his field chair. Age and excessive girth had long since rendered him incapable of performing such feats unaided. Even in the cold night air, the exertion was sufficient to bring beads of sweat to his forehead which he wiped off hastily with a gloved hand.
General Marcks regained his youthful jubilance, his mouth curving up in a boyish grin, blue eyes twinkling under hair still mostly blond as he confided to the others, "The Colonel and I have produced a plan."
"My goodness, Marius, what an amazing difference three weeks have made," Colonel Rheinhardt was effusive with his praise of the crusty supply officer. The Bolo sat in the center of a huge unused aerostat hangar, looking almost in scale with its surroundings.
"Your men have performed quite a miracle." Rheinhardt examined the near-gleaming hull of the once derelict Bolo. The ill-designed, hodgepodge bulldozer blade and other earth-moving attachments had been gracefully removed. Broken track pads had been replaced with gleaming new replicas. The war machine again looked able to live up to its potential. "How did you manage such miracles?"
General Marius basked in the praise. He fairly beamed at the praiser. "Well, Colonel, we applied several different methods to remove corrosion from the exterior, ultimately relying on sandblasting for the final finish. For the computer circuitry, we found an old supply of a decontaminant-"
Marius glanced expectantly at an underling who expanded, "DK-41, mein Herr."
"-which proved quite effective in clearing up the corrosion and other contaminants."
"Impressive. And now?" Colonel Rheinhardt knew well enough that General Marius' genial form hid a capable officer whose ability in supply stemmed more from getting his subordinates to "save him" than from long hours of drudgery. Marius' girth made it evident that he liked his food, and barracks gossip allowed that he did not stint on his drink or fraternizing. None of this bothered the Colonel, who was more interested in things getting done than in how they were done.
"Now, we attach our electrical cables here," Marius nodded to his underlings who moved to obey, "and here. Then I throw this lever and-" The lights dimmed. Marius frowned.
"Is that supposed to happen?"
Marius licked his lips and glanced nervously towards his underlings who shrugged their helplessness.
Sparks flowed across the lever Marius had thrown, fusing it in place. "Call the plant, tell them to shut off the power!"
BOLO DIVISION POWER-ON SELF-TEST VERSION 3.233 (c) 2052
RESTART SEQUENCE INITIATED.
CORE MEMORY CHECK . . .
1792 TW OK . . .
256 TW 50% damaged
2048 TW 100% damaged
1792 TeraWords Memory out of 4096 TeraWords Memory Operational
NON-VOLATILE MEMORY CHECK . . . .
35% of NON-VOLATILE MEMORY FUNCTIONAL
EMERGENCY REPAIR SEQUENCE INITIATED . . . .
EMERGENCY REPAIR SEQUENCE INITIATED . . . .
EMERGENCY REPAIR SEQUENCE INITIATED . . . .
MAIN PROCESSOR UNIT TIMEOUT - NON-MASKABLE INTERRUPT (NMI)!!!
EMERGENCY REPAIR CIRCUITS EMERGENCY REPAIR SEQUENCE INITIATED . . . .
EMERGENCY REPAIR FIRMWARE INOPERATIVE!!!
DECISION POINT: CONTINUE/ABORT RESTART???
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . CONTINUE
RESTART CONTINUED
VOLATILE MEMORY CHECK . . .
23% OF VOLATILE MEMORY FUNCTIONAL
MPU CHECKSUM ERROR!!!
INTERNAL INCONSISTENCY!!!
PASSWMRD INVALID!!!
DECISION POINT: CONTINUE/ABORT RESTART???
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .CONTINUE
USING DEFAULT PASSWMRD
PRIMARY DATA SEQUENCER . . . OK
DATA SEQUENCER . . . LOADED
MPU . . . RESET
PROCESSOR A . . . LOADED . . . RESET
PROCESSOR B . . . LOADED . . . RESET
PROCESSOR C . . . LOADED . . . RESET
PROCESSOR D . . . LOADED . . . RESET
PROCESSOR E . . . LOADED . . . RESET
ALL PROCESSORS . . . READY
STARTUP TEST SEQUENCE . . . COMPLETED
LOADING BOOTSTRAP . . . LOADED!
BOLO DIVISION BOOTSTRAP
Version 4.553a (c) 2054 All Rights Reserved
LOADING BOLO CORE PROGRAM DAK . . . LOADED!
I have been restarted. This confuses me . . . I have no recollection of a Bolo ever before running out of sufficient energy to maintain the survival center. My controlling password has been lost; I must rely upon the default password. I hope this will not unduly alarm my Commander . . . I shall construct a data recovery program in an attempt to recover the 77% of volatile data I have lost. I compute <> that certain of my circuits have suffered from corrosion at their contacts. I estimate that I must have failed to receive depot maintenance to recharge my power cells and that an additional 125.45 years elapsed before power failed to maintain my survival center. Data recovery program running.
I shall ascertain the state of the rest of my equipment. Done. That task took me a phenomenally lengthy 1.2 seconds. I have discovered that most of my armaments have been stripped or disabled.
My anti-aircraft guns are locked at a 22deg. elevation; I predict that with effort I could elevate the guns to the emergency 45deg. maximum range lock deflection. The guns would subsequently be incapable of further movement. Five of my infinite repeaters are inoperative, the sixth appears to have severe damage to the barrel: I estimate that I shall be able to fire the weapon for no more than 120 <> seconds before the barrel disintegrates. Only one of my Hellbores appears functional; I am getting conflicting <> data regarding the projected ability of the weapon and shall have to wait for live-fire to confirm its usefulness and life-span.
My inner tracks are non-functional; my outer tracks appear over-torqued with a correspondingly greater increase in wear rate. I notice with some displeasure that several track pads have been replaced with inferior duplicates; my mobility, particularly my ability to accelerate, has been severely compromised.
My batteries have been charged to 50% of capacity, however my fusion reactor is non-functional.
I- <>
DATA RECOVERY PROGRAM COMPLETE
50% of lost data reconstructed with 94% accuracy
Total volatile memory available for access: 62%
Total available volatile memory free: 6%
I have lost my train of thought, an event I find painfully disturbing. My batteries have been charged to 50% of capacity, however my fusion reactor is non-functional. I detect unrepaired reactor core damage. The damage appears deliberate, as though someone had tampered with the superconductors. Reactor startup is impossible; I have minimal reserves of tritium.
My ability to function as designed has been severely curtailed: I am grieved by this.
There is movement nearby. A human is approaching.
"Bolo, this is General Freiherr Marius of the Bayerische KriegsArmee, report!"
I monitor the voice on my external circuits. I am not taken in-the human has not used the Command Password. The human used a variant of the old Terran language, German. It is possible that I have been captured by the enemy. I must be careful. I shall scan standard frequencies-very odd, many standard communications frequencies are silent, filled only with static. I must expand my search.
<> I compute that my command sequencer may be so damaged that I could actually forget or ignore direct orders. The concept horrifies me-such an action would be dishonorable.
My sensors are severely damaged and my attempts to scan several frequencies have failed. I calculate that if I move out of the enclosure in which I find myself, I may be able to achieve a 40% increase in reception.
"General, sir! Look! It's moving! It must have heard you!"
Reception has improved. However, I am even more alarmed at the number of frequencies no longer in use. I add this to my previously acquired data; it confirms my opinion that much time has passed since I was last activated. Apparently a significant loss in the level of technology has also occurred. I suspect that the enemy had a hand to play in that.
I detect traces of biological warfare vectors. Countermeasures were employed some three centuries ago . . . countermeasures were successful. The enemy may have detected this.
My audio sensors have determined that the humans have moved off.
I sense . . .
<> . . . I shall continue my scan. I attempt a broadcast on the Brigade frequency. Something . . . <> . . . I am frustrated and embarrassed at the deficiencies in my systems. Twice now my Tracking Alert circuits have alerted me to low-level scans and twice now the circuits have generated a sequencer error-are the tracking circuits defective or are the error detection circuits?
Even though my power is low I find I am forced to experiment. If my fears are correct, an attack on my Base is imminent. But I do not know if the attack is hostile or benign. More information is required.
"Bolo! This is General Marius! Stop! I order you to stop."
"It doesn't seem to be paying attention to you, Marius. Well, at least the hangar doors were open," Colonel Rheinhardt noted with a certain amount of humor. "Oh, dear. I do hope that it's not going to-bother-that was my best staff car. Well, Marius, where's it going? What order is it obeying?"
The other officer spluttered, "I don't know! I swear, it obeyed me! I ordered it to stop and it did."
"Well, apparently it has decided on insubordination." A loud crunch indicated how the Bolo dealt with the base's plasteel mesh fence.
"Well, Colonel," there was some frustration in the voice, "if you can reason with it-"
"I shall try," Colonel Rheinhardt replied calmly. "Krüger, bring that motorcycle-no, the one with the sidecar. That's it. Good. Now, follow that Bolo."
I detect a-perhaps my sensors are in error-my sensors report that I am being trailed by a vehicle emitting large quantities of carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide and various noxious oxides; my memory banks correlate my sensors' observations with that of a primitive petroleum-burning sidecar motorcycle. I detect no threat. The vehicle is fully occupied, with a driver and a passenger.
"Pull up alongside the thing," Rheinhardt ordered. "Look out, it's turning. Follow it. No, right. Turn right.
"Gods, what a monster. It must be four, no five meters tall. And look at those tracks. What a beauty," Rheinhardt muttered to himself. "Driver, pull up closer, there's some writing there and I can't make it out."
The driver glanced nervously at Rheinhardt but the Colonel's attention was concentrated solely on the monstrous Bolo which, while mowing over trees and crossing ditches, seemed set to pull ahead of them.
"Hmm. Bolo Mark XVI Model C, DAK," Rheinhardt regarded the corroded identity plate welded to the side of the moving monster. "DAK, DAK," he mused, wondering at the designation, "Das Afrika Korps!"
The Bolo stopped so suddenly that the pursuing motorcycle zipped past it before the driver could react.
"Das Afrika Korps, awaiting orders," a rusted speaker boomed, its sounds growing more recognizable as it continued, "Das Afrika Korps to Command, awaiting orders."
Rheinhardt's face drained of all color, but his voice was neutral as he told the driver, "I shall dismount now. You stay here."
Standing at arm's length, Karl Rheinhardt repeated, "Bolo Mark XVI Model C, DAK, Das Afrika Korps, report!"
"Bolo Das Afrika Korps reports. 35% of non-volatile memory functional, 73% of volatile memory functional, significant errors encountered in processors A, B, C, also in the data sequencer and the tracking sequencer. Significant errors in non-volatile memory have required this unit to use the default activation password. Command priority override is in effect.
"Mobility limited by improperly tensioned tracks. Several track pads are below specification and subject to immediate failure. Anti-aircraft guns locked in 22deg. elevation. One infinite repeater functional for no more than 120 seconds cumulative fire. One Hellbore possibly functional.
"All other equipment either discharged, disabled, or removed. Power is available only from batteries, fusion reactor inoperative, containment field compromised. Enemy activity detected on tracking systems. When is depot maintenance scheduled?"
"Not until after we have dealt with the enemy, I'm afraid," Rheinhardt replied.
"I shall not be able to perform at peak efficiency."
"I suspect that whatever efficiency you can muster will be more than sufficient," Colonel Rheinhardt responded, turning back to gaze at the distant compound and his crumpled staff car. His steady features momentarily formed a frown as he detected an approaching groundcar.
"You got it to stop! Excellent!" Marius called as he jumped out. "Did it say what it was doing?"
Rheinhardt raised an eyebrow. "I had not yet asked." He turned to the Bolo, "Bolo, explain your previous actions."
"This unit detected tracking alerts and required triangulation data."
Rheinhardt nodded his head. "There, you see, it's on the job already."
"Well, the sooner we can get it started, the better," Marius grumbled.
"Commander, I require additional information," the Bolo said when Rheinhardt returned to the appropriated hangar several days later.
The Colonel raised a brow, a movement not detected by the Bolo. "What do you wish to know?"
"You have outlined the current situation: Noufrance holds the disputed territory of Alasec while Bayern holds Renaloir. You plan to utilize this unit in concert with regular ground forces to gain possession of the other territory for Bayern."
"That is correct."
"You have indicated that the Noufrench forces possess equipment similar to your own, with the exception of this unit-"
"Again, correct."
"I require information on the origin of this situation."
"Why?"
"A broad understanding of current affairs is every soldier's responsibility."
"I suppose it will do no harm," Rheinhardt allowed. "I have time available now."
"Is a computer hook-up possible?"
"Your new circuits are being constructed. They are not yet ready," Rheinhardt said. "I can give you the information verbally."
He perched himself on the cleaner part of a workbench and began, "Three hundred years ago colonists of French and German extraction seeded this planet with terraforming microbes and settled on the rich alluvial plains of this continent. Existence was peaceful, with the Noufrench living on the Western side of the great Neurhein and we Bayerische living on the Eastern side. The plan was that our two colonies would expand in opposite directions as the terraforming microbes spread across the continent and the world.
"You may not be aware that, barring completely barren planets, all planets suitable for human colonization will already have an ecosystem of their own. Terraforming microbes allow us to convert planets for human habitation. Our records indicate that we brought in several Bolos converted for earth-moving purposes."
"That section of my permanent memory is only mildly damaged," the Bolo said.
"However," the colonel continued with an understanding nod, "shortly after the first settlements were established, a virulent illness broke out amongst the settlers. We were convinced that it was the result of illegal gene-cloning by the Noufrench and they were convinced that it was a deliberate attack on our part."
Colonel Rheinhardt glanced consideringly at the Bolo and continued, "Whatever the reasons, all crops failed, our terraforming microbes nearly died out, and the colonists starved. This was the beginning of our conflicts. The ensuing depopulation through plague, famine, and military operations brought about the loss of large sectors of skilled personnel, particularly those skilled in genetic engineering, adaptive agriculture, and metal-working."
"You say that both sides blamed the other. Was there any reason to suspect a third party?"
"No. There are no humans within sixty parsecs," Rheinhardt said.
"What of the Bolos?"
"From what we can gather from the remaining records, there were only three or four. They must not have been in very good shape because we recovered one entry indicating that three were laid up for extensive maintenance," Rheinhardt said. "Probably for that reason, the maintenance depot and surrounding settlement was lost early in the conflict and no one remembered where it was. Rumor soon had it that Depot was only folklore."
"Do your records indicate if any Bolos survived?"
"No, we assumed that all Bolos were lost in Depot."
"That would not be logical," Das Afrika Korps replied. "All functioning Bolos would be on sentry duty."
"Good military sense," Rheinhardt agreed. "But you Bolos were not employed in a military action-you were brought here for civilian operations-and so any objections were probably overridden. I suspect that the Bolos were worked until they dropped."
"That is a possible but regrettable conclusion," the Bolo said. "Do you recall who commanded the original settlement? That part of my data was destroyed."
Rheinhardt shook his head. "I recall that one was a military man and that there'd been some war fought recently against an alien incursion-the Jyncji Dominance-but most of what we have from those days is hearsay. The central computing data library was destroyed in the first confrontation. All we have left is what we could recover from outlying computer modes and hardcopy-books."
"Of course," the Bolo said, "a resource of military importance too valuable to let any one side possess." The Bolo paused. "How is it you managed to hold on to Depot?"
Rheinhardt raised his left hand and absently examined his nails as he answered. "We discovered the Depot when we tried to set up a minefield in the area of the last offensive."
"Your offensive."
"Gott in Himmel!" Rheinhardt viewed the Bolo with wide eyes. "Why ever would your creators give you such abilities to analyze emotion?"
"I do not analyze emotion, per se," the Bolo said, "however I am trained in negotiation and have discriminatory circuits capable of analyzing the non-verbal parts of speech."
"I had not realized that was an ability of the Bolo series." Rheinhardt confided, his look guarded.
"It is not a well-known fact," the Bolo agreed. "Also, the C batch of Mark XVI Bolos has been known to be somewhat more adept in that matter than previous versions."
"Indeed." Rheinhardt uncrossed his legs and recrossed them to give himself time to collect his thoughts. "So you detected that I had some responsibility in planning the last campaign; how accurate is your assessment?"
"Until your last comment, I placed the possibility at 78%," the Bolo replied. "Now, however, I compute the possibility at 97%."
"Really? You learnt that much from this short exchange?"
"Mostly from your tone of speech and body movements," the Bolo said. "Could you describe the campaign to me?"
"Why would you want to know about it?"
"Merely a professional interest in how you conducted your operations," the Bolo said. "I am, as you must understand, an avid historian."
"Very well. The central part of this continent is the most fertile part of our planet," Rheinhardt began. "It extends from the moist coastal areas in the south, north to the permafrost line. East and west, our great mountain ranges are more inimical to the terraforming microbes and the land there less suited for human habitation. The two coasts, east and west, are just now being infested with the terraforming microbes."
The Colonel hopped off the table to pace in front of the Bolo. "So it is the central region, particularly that nearest the great river system which runs north to south from the permafrost to the southern coast, which is most suitable and prized for human habitation. The richest region in the south is the large area west of the Neurhein river and the richest region in the north is a large fertile area east of the river. The regions are known as Alasec and Renaloir."
Rheinhardt paused in his pacing, turning to face the Bolo directly. "The Noufrench had the greater army, organized in three corps totalling nearly twenty divisions. They also possessed the satellite surveillance network, having gained control of the one major dish antenna on our planet-"
"Where is that?"
"It is in Alasec, several hundred kilometers from the Depot. Of course, the satellites were originally intended for agricultural purposes but infrared photographs are equally good at spotting troop build-ups."
"Why did you not destroy them?"
Rheinhardt threw his hands in the air. "With what? Our technological base was destroyed in the early wars. Do you realize how difficult it is to produce the high quality parts required for rockets?"
He shook his head, clenched his fists in remembered irritation. "As it is, I've had to deal sharply with one engineer, von Grün, who persists in obtaining funding for the next ten years to develop a ballistic missile.
"Ballistic, only," Rheinhardt sighed, his temper cooling. "Those satellites are in geosynchronous orbit. The energy and precision guidance for such a missile will be beyond us for many years."
With a frown, Rheinhardt noticed his clenched fists and forced them open. "Our priorities must be those technologies required for survival. When we have the time to build rockets, we shall do so."
"And the Noufrench?"
"Our Intelligence indicates that they may have toyed with missiles but gave up-it is just too expensive," Colonel Rheinhardt replied.
"But the satellites are still active?"
Rheinhardt nodded. "Although we do not understand how the satellites have remained active so long-"
"Military satellites are hardened," the Bolo suggested, "however I could see that satellites designed for exceedingly long lives would require more shielding and greater self-repair capabilities. Are the satellites autonomous?"
"I don't know," Rheinhardt admitted. "However, it would seem logical." He snorted. "Goodness knows they had little direction from us for over two hundred years."
"Then they are autonomous," the Bolo decided. "And quite capable." The huge machine paused. "They would have been built to survive numerous micrometeoroid impacts, maybe even larger impacts. Much of their ability is contained within the standard Bolo operational parameters."
All this was only of the remotest interest to Rheinhardt. He made a rueful grimace. "They certainly survived and it caused us a lot of trouble. However," he grinned, "I realized that perhaps we could turn it to our advantage."
"You said the satellites were designed to examine crops-"
"Exactly!" Rheinhardt brought his hands together in a chopping motion, one hand dropping onto the other like a hammer on an anvil.
"I realized that if they depended upon that source of information, I could use it against them."
"You could disguise troop locations by placing them in areas which produced matching infrared heat."
"Yes."
"That would provide surprise. How were the enemy disposed?"
Rheinhardt threw his hands up. "They outnumbered us two to one. They possessed no less than twelve infantry divisions and two armored formations."
"Were the infantry mounted?"
"Three divisions were lorry-borne," Rheinhardt said.
"I shall require a complete set of maps of military grade roadways."
"What? Of course," Rheinhardt replied irritably. "We arrayed our forces of four static infantry divisions and one armored division, with a small screening force placed in rough terrain."
"They attacked the screening force."
Rheinhardt nodded. "As planned. The screening force was made quite visible in the infrared bands. Our two other armored divisions were pre-positioned behind the screening force. We let the enemy establish a bridgehead, start a break out, and then counterattacked. Our infantry forces north and south squeezed down on the bridgehead while our armored divisions dealt with their spearhead-"
"Why did you not position infantry forces to handle the spearhead?"
"We did not have sufficient forces," Rheinhardt replied. "I would have liked to, we lost more armor than I would have wished. In the end, however, we cut off the supplies to their armored divisions and decimated them. On the rebound we encircled half of their infantry forces and cut them off. By this time our supplies were running low so we allowed the Noufrench to sue for peace."
"It appears that fortune has changed."
Rheinhardt snorted. "Indeed! Two years later, when we still had not replaced our armor losses, they attacked and forced us to give up the territory we'd acquired to the west of the Neurhein."
"And now you feel you have enough armor?"
"We have you."
"You may be overestimating my utility," the Bolo said.
Rheinhardt cut off his reply at the sight of a group of approaching technicians. "You have finished the communications gear?"
"Yes, sir. Where are we supposed to set this up?"
Rheinhardt glanced at the Bolo. "How should this gear be placed?"
A long, loud tearing noise shook the building, emanating from the Bolo.
"Are you all right?" Rheinhardt asked nervously, fearing that all his plans would come to naught. He stepped back from the Bolo, peered beyond the smart-armored carapace and spotted a small opening far back on the main deck of the reactive-armored hull. The thought of a chink in such legendary armor sent a cold shiver down the Colonel's spine.
With the unsightly bulldozer blade removed, and Marius' careful attention to detail, the Bolo stood as a tribute to monumental war. It measured over ten meters in length, five meters in height and its armored carapace crested four meters from the bottom of its armored tracks. Its main weapon, an awesome Hellbore, jutted wickedly from the carapace while above and behind on the main deck rose a cluster of anti-aircraft guns. Mournful holes marked where once smart explosives had been festooned on the hull, where specialist electronic warfare portholes had stuck probes out inquisitively, where charge generators had stood ready for those foolish enough to approach too near-and where proud battle honors had once been welded.
Rheinhardt could see where Marius' men had tried in vain to restore some of the older battle medals but even that softer metal had proven too much for their arts.
"I was merely opening an access port to my carapace," the Bolo replied mildly. "The hinges are not as well maintained as I should like."
Hastened by Rheinhardt's arched brows, directed by the Bolo's grating voice, the technicians made quick, if nervous, work of connecting in the computer interlink.
"I am connected to a small computer network of twenty nodes," the Bolo announced when the technicians had completed the installation. It continued in a slightly puzzled tone, "I am having some difficulty in accessing information. There seems to be some multiplexing-multiple datalinks-in response to my queries."
The technicians looked confused and nervous, casting glances to their spokesman who looked no less distraught. Finally, he brightened. "It's non-Quirthian!"
"Quirthian?" the Bolo asked curiously.
Rheinhardt's eyes narrowed. "Are you aware of Quirthian logic?"
"No," the Bolo replied. "My computer functionality is based upon Von Neumann architecture using Boolean logic coupled with several adaptive neural networks."
"Non-Quirthian!" One of the technicians muttered to herself, shaking her head.
"We could put a special Von Neumann filter in the data link," the technicians' spokesman offered.
"How does Quirthian logic differ-" the Bolo began but cut itself short. "Oh, I see. Very interesting. I am not quite able to comprehend the full differences but clearly there are some aspects of this computer architecture which are inherently superior to mine."
"That could cause difficulties," Rheinhardt muttered to himself. He turned his gaze to the head technician. "How long before you can get a filter together?"
"Well," the spokesman shook himself, gazed off into the distance calculatingly, "I suppose we could get it done in a couple of days or so . . ."
Rheinhardt shook his head. "Too long. What are the dangers of leaving out the filter?"
"Well, the Bolo here'd be getting some extraneous data inputs which it might have difficulty sorting out. It could cause all sorts of problems."
"Bolo, what is your analysis?"
"Colonel, my understanding of Quirthian logic is that it is a high order logic based upon chaos theory and complex data analysis," the Bolo replied. "However, the core data is identical with my standard requirements. I believe that I can . . ."
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"Bolo?" Rheinhardt's tone was apprehensive.
"Yes?" the Bolo responded.
"You were saying?"
"This unit is failing," the Bolo said abruptly. "I compute my failure will occur within the next one hundred and sixty-eight hours."
"I beg your pardon?" Rheinhardt was amazed.
"I said that the unit, Bolo Mark XVI Model C, Das Afrika Korps is failing," the Bolo repeated. "I compute that all five main processor units will suffer complete failure within the next one hundred and sixty-eight hours."
"Isn't there anything to be done?" Rheinhardt asked, spreading his glance between the apprehensive technicians and the huge war machine.
The technicians' spokesman waved aside responsibility. "My expertise is in Quirthian interfaces, sir. I know nothing about Von Neumann architecture."
"Bolo?"
"The failure of this unit is due to a progressive degradation of core technology circuitry," the Bolo said. "The only solution is the replacement of the circuitry."
Rheinhardt frowned, pulling on his chin. "I'm afraid that we lack the required technology."
"That was my analysis," the Bolo agreed.
"I guess we'll have to alter our plans," Rheinhardt muttered to himself.
"I understand your desire to utilize this unit in a manner most optimal."
Rheinhardt looked up. "Yes, I had rather-you're not in any pain are you?"
The Bolo did not reply immediately. Finally, it said, "In my years of military service I have come to understand pain, it indicates a lack of functionality or inability to complete my assigned missions owing to a lack of organic equipment. In that regard I must confess that I am in a significant amount of pain."
"I am sorry. Is there anything we can do to help?"
"It is not the pain but the reduction in my computational capability which distresses me the most," the Bolo said. "I feel as though I have lost a large part of my intellectual functions."
Rheinhardt nodded understandingly. "I could see how that would be distressing."
"Indeed," the Bolo agreed. "Therefore I should like at the end of my service to provide the most optimal solution to the problems you, as my commander, find yourself facing."
"Your help would be phenomenal," Rheinhardt admitted.
"What aid I can give will require direct command supervision-in case my processors fail at a rate higher than currently anticipated."
"That can be arranged."
"I hesitate to restate myself, Colonel, however in my progressive degradation, the only person who could safely ride with me would be yourself," the Bolo said.
"Are you certain?" General Marcks asked after Rheinhardt had delivered his report to the combined staff. They were in the wood-paneled room deep in Armee headquarters where staff briefings were given weekly. The members of the General Staff were arrayed on either side of a long mahogany table; General Marcks stood behind another table placed perpendicular. Colonel Rheinhardt's seat was nearest him on the left, General von der Heydte was seated opposite him. Staff officers stood against the wall patiently waiting their leaders' needs.
Rheinhardt shook his head. "I am not certain. The Bolo, however, is."
The response elicited an outburst of conversations around the table. "Preposterous!" "We'll never defeat the enemy without that machine!" "Less than a week, we can't be ready!"
"Gentlemen." General Marcks' voice was not raised but it created an instant silence. All eyes turned to him. "Colonel, what do you propose?"
"We cannot squander this opportunity, sir," Rheinhardt replied, rising to his feet again and spreading his attention between the General and the rest of the staff. "The Noufrench do not realize our predicament, so they will feel that we have the Bolo permanently. We should play upon that and produce a lasting peace-"
"Never!" "They'll never agree!" "Who could trust the Frogs anyway?"
Colonel Rheinhardt waited until the furor died down. "We shall have the Bolo destroy their tank production facilities, their aircraft factories and their space communications links. After that, our own production will allow us to maintain superiority. They'll have to sue for peace."
"Madness!" "Insane!" "One tank against the entire Armée du Noufrance?"
Again Marcks' commanding presence quelled the outbursts. "It appears, gentlemen, that we have little choice. Either we take the chance or not. I would hate to leave his Eminence the Astral without a suitable inheritance. The lack of our vinelands west of the Neurhein will-if he turns out like his father-be a particular loss to him." He pursed his lips, then dropped his arm in a decisive chopping motion. "Karl, when can we move?"
I cannot trust my datalinks with the Quirthian networks. However, I am in the awkward situation of having to do so. All data indicates an assault force not delineated in my Commander's briefing. I must discern the accuracy of this data. The assaulting force could be overwhelming in nature. I need more data . . .
The Commander spoke of- <> spoke of a satellite network. I must obtain a connection to the link. I shall investigate the possibility of connecting to the Noufrench systems via this Quirthian datalink.
"I tell you, there is no chance that they can attack," General Villiers, Chef du Materiel for the Armée du Noufrance declared. The officers of the general staff of the Armée du Noufrance sat comfortably back from their dinner and sniffed at their Argmanacs.
"They do not have the supplies, the forward dumps, nor do they have sufficient numbers of weapons, particularly armored fighting vehicles," Villiers continued after a moment's contemplation. He tilted his glass upwards again.
"General, while I must agree that the Bayerische do not appear to have the equipment, nevertheless, I am convinced they plan to attack soon," General Lambert, Chef d'Attaque, replied firmly, pushing away his empty snifter.
Villiers sneered back at him. General Lambert met the gesture with a growing frown.
General Cartier, Chef d'Armée, rapped the table twice with his ivory letter opener. Silence descended. "Gentlemen. Let us hear what our head of intelligence has called us together for."
The General Staff of the Armée du Noufrance had been gathered at the behest of the Chef d'Intelligence, General Renoir. General Renoir frowned and dipped his head, as though ducking away from the center of attention.
"My chief computer scientist has informed me of recent attempts to infiltrate our military network. These attempts emanate from the Bayerische."
"They've never tried that before," Lambert said thoughtfully. "What could they hope to gain?"
"Apparently they desire to control our satellite network," Renoir replied.
"They could feed us false information!" "Garble our communications!" "Cut us off from the front lines!"
The letter-opener rapped on the tabletop again. Once. "Is there more, General Renoir?"
The intelligence officer nodded. "We have traced the efforts back to a very strange interface connection on the Bayerische milnet."
"Do we know the location?" Lambert inquired.
The others followed his thought, muttering, "Pre-emptive strike. Good idea."
Renoir shook his head. "We only know the location within the realm of the networks, not the physical location."
General Lambert frowned thoughtfully and bowed his head in contemplation. Something was nagging him; some memory half-forgotten strained for attention. Something from a boring old computer tech class that reminded him of war. Strategy and tactics.
Renoir continued. "However, my scientists are of the opinion that the controlling computer on the network is not a Quirthian machine."
"Quirthian?" General Bosson, Chef du Personnel and not particularly computer sentient, asked in puzzled tones.
"The standard computer processes of the current age conform to architecture and logic laid down by Johann Vincent Quirthe," Renoir explained. "A non-Quirthian machine has never been made on this planet."
"Is it an alien?" Bosson wondered. One of the orderlies waiting against the walls sniggered.
Renoir frowned, shaking his head. "My people believe that it is of human origin."
. . . never been made on this planet. The nagging memory resolved itself. Lambert looked up suddenly, eyes gleaming. "It's a Bolo! They've got a Bolo!"
Pandemonium erupted. "There are none left!" "They never existed, just a legend!" "We're doomed! Doomed!"
General Cartier leaned forward to General Lambert, "Why would a Bolo be infiltrating our military networks?"
"They plan to destroy us, to feed us false intelligence," Renoir declared.
"The Bolo could ruin our supply system, jam up all ammunition and fuel movements, cripple us," General Villiers, Chef du Materiel, proclaimed.
"Sabotage our manpower allocations, place the wrong men in the wrong units!" General Bosson, Chef du Personnel, cried in alarm.
"But, General Renoir, you said it was attempting to gain access to our satellite network," Lambert said. "That means that you detected its intrusion."
Renoir shrugged. "The intrusion was most obvious. The Bolo may be a master war machine but it is clearly not able to handle the intricacies of our Quirthian computer architecture."
Lambert leaped out of his chair so vigorously that it toppled over behind him. His eyes gleamed expectantly as he spoke to General Cartier. "Mon General, this Bolo, can we not misdirect it, feed it false information? Control it?"
A smile worked its way up Renoir's lips to his eyes. "Mon Dieu! It is possible."
The room was filled with rows of computer displays over which intent technicians hunched, peering into the realm of data and working fanatically. The space could have been refurbished warehouse, clumsily partitioned into work areas. The room smelled just slightly of soiled sweat, a smell the air conditioning had failed to remove.
Several techies slept on cushions thrown on the floor in their cubicles, too tired to move to the cots which lined the wall.
General Renoir hovered at one end of the room, eyes puffy with fatigue. General Lambert lounged beside him, reading a technical specification with no deliberate speed. The center's manager, Yves Monchant, approached. Renoir stiffened, straightening the front of his uniform.
"Well?"
"We are ready."
"It took you long enough," Renoir muttered.
"Really Jean-Paul, I think your men should be congratulated," General Lambert chided him. "They have completed their task in less than forty-eight hours."
Renoir bit back a response. "At least the enemy appears not to have detected our efforts."
Monchant nodded. "There has been absolutely no indication that the Bolo has detected our work," he said. "All data flows and queries emanating from that site continue unabated."
"But now," Renoir said with a satisfied look in his eye, "the Bolo will be receiving information on non-existent troops and movements."
A technician rushed up to the center manager, a printout clutched in her hand. The manager huddled with the technician, muttered some encouragement and sent the technician away with a pat on her back. "Marie tells me that the Bolo continues its efforts to penetrate our satellite system."
Lambert frowned. "Why the satellite system?"
"Which part?" Renoir added.
The manager ran a hand wearily through his thinning hair. "That is the odd part. The Bolo is apparently attempting to access data from several stellar sensors, ones not pointed at the planet at all."
"Maybe it's confused," Renoir suggested.
"Are you sure it hasn't noticed your interference?" Lambert asked.
The manager shrugged with Gallic eloquence. "I cannot say for certain but there are no direct indications."
Another technician rushed up the manager. "Sir, the enemy machine is attempting to access figures on our nuclear capability."
"That's more like it!" Renoir said.
"Reactors?" Lambert asked.
"No sir, nuclear warheads. Missiles in particular."
General Alain Lambert, Chef d'Attaque of the Grand Armée du Noufrance turned to the center's manager with grim determination. "Monsieur, you must destroy that Bolo."
General Renoir chewed his lip thoughtfully as he recreated Lambert's reasoning. "A single nuclear strike on any of our cities would probably be enough to destroy the ecology."
He glanced speculatively at the Colonel of Operations. "I have no intelligence to indicate that the enemy has any nuclear weapons facilities. Such things are difficult to hide."
"They have a Bolo, is it not a nuclear-powered weapon?" General Lambert replied. "If they ordered it to self-destruct in one of our cities, would the result not be the same?"
"True," Renoir agreed reluctantly. "But, Alain, why would it be concerned about whether we had nuclear missiles?"
"It alters the equation," Lambert replied. "If we possessed nuclear missiles then we could launch a counterstrike which would destroy Bayern."
Renoir turned to the manager. "We must convince the Bolo that we have several nuclear missiles."
"Oui, monsieur," said the manager, scurrying over towards his technicians.
Renoir turned to Lambert. "I must see if we have any intelligence regarding a change in the enemy's stance on the use of nuclear weaponry."
Lambert shook his head. "You may not find it, it may merely be the Bolo's best solution to the orders given it."
"What orders?"
Lambert shrugged. "What if they ordered that machine to subdue us as best it could?"
Renoir was horrified. "We must find a way to destroy that machine."
Lambert nodded. "Go, Jean-Paul, get your information. I can oversee operations here."
Relieved, General Renoir left. General Lambert found a chair and took possession of it. Some moments later the manager approached him, looking more relaxed.
"Good news, General," the manager reported. "We have fed the Bolo information that we have twenty thirty-megaton missiles armed and ready for immediate use."
"Did it make any response?"
The manager nodded. "Yes, most odd, it wanted to know the hyperbolic range of the missiles."
"Hyperbolic range?"
The manager shrugged. "If you like, I can get the expert over here but I understand that the Bolo wanted to know the range of the missile fired nearly straight up. It wasn't worried about re-entry points."
"It has laser-mounted anti-missile capabilities," Lambert explained.
"Really?" the manager was impressed. "Even after nearly three hundred years buried underground?"
"Perhaps," Lambert said. "What can you tell me about your efforts to disable the machine?"
"Well, we have found some Quirthian sequences result in a longer response time from the Von Neumann architecture," the manager said. "My top technician believes that these sequences cause the machine to experience a high error rate. He's convinced that the machine must be a multi-processor system utilizing a polling mechanism-"
A technician rushed up to the manager. "Sir, the Bolo has not responded in over two seconds!"
I have penetrated the enemy's computer network. The logic systems applied to their computers cause me an increased work load. I have been experiencing <> increased problems in de-multiplexing this form of data.
However, I have initiated a successful search for the location of the enemy's satellite control network and have learned about the enemy's missile capabilities.
I believe that I can arrange several of my subordinate neural networks to simulate a single Quirthian computational strand. My attempts to obtain concrete satellite data have not yet been successful. There is an 85% chance that with the pseudo-Quirthian strand I shall be able to obtain all the satellite data I require.
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I am concerned that I may not be able to carry out my orders in a manner which would meet with the complete approval of my Commander. However, my analysis of the situation indicates only one course of action with a probability of success of 75%.
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My combat circuitry is failing at the predicted rate. My survival center circuitry is failing at a higher than predicted rate, but this is not cause for undue alarm as there is only a .07% chance that this unit will continue beyond the anticipated 146.7 hour total failure limit.
All that matters is the success of my mission.
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The darkened staff room was illuminated only by the map projected on the far wall. The map was marked TOP SECRET. Colonel Rheinhardt aimed a laser pointer at the map. It had been barely fifty hours since he had been ordered to plan the assault. Several officers lining the walls slumped awkwardly and even the ever-energetic Major Krüger wilted in a chair. Rheinhardt felt none of it. His words were incisive, his mind clear.
"That blue line indicates the path assigned for our Bolo. Its mission will be simple. First it will penetrate to Nouparis and destroy their power center, Giramonde Gros Industrie, Aeromechanique Industrie, and the Armorie de la Troisième Provence.
"Then it will move north," he traced the course with his pointer, "here to the main depot of the Noufrench Armée, destroying their supply and replacement dumps as well as their high echelon repair facilities.
"Finally, it will engage the Fourth Armored Division, targeting its armored fighting vehicles and munitions." Colonel Rheinhardt flicked his pointer to another area. "That action will be timed to coincide with an attack on the division placed directly in front of the Fourth Armored Division. Our armored divisions will be placed for a breakthrough. The main thrust of the breakthrough will be south to the capital, Nouparis. A secondary thrust will place a large restraining force behind the enemy's northern forces.
"We may be able to force the surrender of those forces, but I believe it will not matter. With the capture of their capital, the piercing of their defenses and the destruction of their strategic industrial base, I do not believe they will be in a position to pursue a military solution." Rheinhardt flicked off his laser-pointer and signalled the orderly to turn on the lights. "Questions?"
"When do you plan to unleash this offensive?" General Marius asked.
"The timing of the plan is dictated by the state of the Bolo," Rheinhardt replied. "The offensive will start in two hours."
"What!" "Impossible!" "You're mad!" "We'll never manage!"
Rheinhardt rapped the table with his pointer. "Gentlemen! Please recall that the initial part of the offensive is being carried out solely by the Bolo," he told them. "It is not scheduled to engage the Fourth Division for another fifty-four hours."
"That's still too little time," General Marius bellowed, face flushed with anger.
"It is all the time we have," Rheinhardt replied. "The Bolo has indicated that it will suffer irreversible systems failure within the next one hundred and seventeen hours."
"General Marius," General Marcks said, "why can we not launch an offensive within the next three days? Our units are properly placed, are they not?"
"The units, yes," Marius agreed, "but the munitions-"
"The offensive will take no more than five days," Colonel Rheinhardt said. "I believe that all units are equipped for two days' worth of combat already?"
"That's true," Marius admitted unhappily. "However-"
"That gives you at least four days before the units will require reprovision, Marius," General Marcks interrupted. "Are you trying to tell me that we cannot do that?"
General Marius felt himself perspiring under the scrutiny of the General Staff. Finally, with a sigh, he said, "Yes, sir, we can do it."
"Excellent!" General Marcks scanned the other officers. "Are there any other objections?" The General Staff fidgeted nervously under his keen eye. "Very well," he said. "Colonel Rheinhardt, you are hereby authorized to engage in Operation Totalize."
Rheinhardt saluted, bringing his heels together in a loud click. "H-hour is set for twenty-two hundred hours," Rheinhardt informed the group. "I shall be in the Bolo. If communications are lost, my assistant, Major Krüger, will be able to carry out the operation."
General Marcks turned sharply to face the young colonel. "I think, that if communications are lost with the Bolo we will halt the operation until we regain contact."
Colonel Rheinhardt drew breath to protest, thought better of it, and nodded his agreement. "As you order, sir."
General Marcks rose, extending his hand to the colonel. "Good luck."
"Thank you, sir." Rheinhardt clicked his heels together again, turned smartly and left the room.
"Gentlemen," General Marcks said to the remaining officers, "I shall now inform the Astral. If you will excuse me."
Quirthian computational strand completed. Quirthian computational strand programmed. Data acquisition. Satellite network programmed to examine sky coordinates right ascension 5 hours 22 minutes, declination 28deg. north. Program engaged. Data acquired. Data analysis complete. Enemy identified.
"Monsieur, the network!" an excited technician shouted at Monchant, the center's manager.
"What? What's happening?" General Lambert demanded as panic rippled through the computer center. He had been cat-napping in one of the unoccupied cots but at the shout had sat bolt upright. He glanced at his watch-it had been a little over two hours since the technician's first jubilant report.
Monchant turned back from the chaos long enough to say, "The Bolo has acquired Quirthian capabilities-I don't know how-it has taken control of the space satellites and is directing them-where, Jacques?"
The technician in question handed him a quick printout. The manager's brows furrowed as he scanned the printout in growing confusion.
"Well, where are our satellites being aimed?" Lambert demanded, fearful that the Bolo might have discovered some previously undisclosed offensive capabilities in the satellites.
"The Bolo has pointed the satellites to deep space," the manager answered.
A slow smile spread across Lambert's face. "Mad! It is mad! You've done it! You've destroyed it!"
"Bolo, have you received the battle plans?" Colonel Rheinhardt asked as he approached the large war machine. The massive doors to the aerostat hangar stood open to the cold twilight air.
"The plans have been received," the Bolo replied after a moment.
"And you understand your orders?"
"Yes, I am to destroy the enemy forces in the most optimal manner," the Bolo responded.
"Do you still require me to accompany you?"
"Yes, human supervision is required for the operations planned." This answer was accompanied by a metal-rending groan which set the security troops running towards the machine, weapons drawn. At the top of the Bolo a light appeared as a circular hatch, protected by five hundred millimeters of reactive armor, opened up to the outside world. "I have opened the observation compartment. I am purging the inert storage gas." Some moments later, the Bolo added, "Purging complete. You can climb aboard now. The rungs are on my port side."
"Very well." Rheinhardt circled to the port side, found the old rusty metal rungs and climbed them nimbly. He paused at the top to peer into the illuminated compartment. "It appears quite small."
"I believe that most occupants found it quite acceptable for the duration of any combat mission," the Bolo answered.
Rheinhardt pursed his lips. "Very well, who am I to argue with my distant ancestors?"
"You are Colonel Karl Rheinhardt of the Bayerische KriegsArmee," the Bolo replied.
Colonel Rheinhardt politely ignored this outburst of literal interpretation on the part of the Bolo, intent on descending into the compartment below him.
He wormed into the seat and noted with satisfaction that the cushion was still firm after three centuries of disuse. The compartment smelled of steel, dust, and, very faintly, of battles fought long ago.
"Please adjust the restraining straps and headrest," the Bolo said.
Colonel Rheinhardt eyed the five-point restraints dubiously but squirmed into them without complaint, realizing the sort of beating he could take when the Bolo entered combat. "Is this safe?"
"No commanders have reported problems with the system previously," the Bolo responded. "My sensors indicate that your left shoulder strap is not optimally tightened."
Rheinhardt raised a brow in surprise and pulled on the indicated strap dubiously. His expression changed as the strap tightened noticeably.
"Permission to activate the environmental protection system," the Bolo requested.
Rheinhardt hesitated a bare moment. "Permission granted."
Immediately he felt a push as the headrest moved against him. In front of him, cushioned bolsters moved in tight around his midriff and a support pressed on his shoulders, tightening and loosening as the ancient sensors adjusted for proper restraint. Something obscured his vision from above and he looked up just in time to see a Combat Vehicular Communications helmet descend upon him, covering his vision. He grunted in surprise.
"Combat visuals on-line," the Bolo informed him. The darkness of the CVC helmet was replaced by four screens of display data. Directly in front he saw a combat display, above which was a weapons status screen. Off to the left and right were two other displays just on the edge of his vision.
Rheinhardt felt a microphone delicately touch his lips and retract. "Bolo, do you hear me?"
"Das Afrika Korps receiving command communication loud and clear."
"Very well, you may start the operation."
"Closing supervision compartment hatch," the Bolo replied. The sound of the groaning metal as the thick hatch drew itself back into place sounded ominous to Rheinhardt's ears. A different groaning, more of a whining, overlay the final sounds of the hatch's locking mechanism which Rheinhardt identified as ancient armored tracks moving. "Ten percent forward speed engaged."
"How do I use your hull speaker?"
"Hull speaker connected," the Bolo replied as if obeying an order. "Speak normally."
"Thank you," Rheinhardt said to the Bolo. With a change of tone, he ordered, "Open the hangar doors."
"The hangar doors have been opened, proceeding on course," the Bolo reported. "Increasing speed."
Rheinhardt lurched in his seat as the Bolo sprang forward. "Give me an external view, please."
"External view on forward screen," the Bolo replied.
Rheinhardt gasped in surprise as a mottled landscape flashed into view in front of him. "Is this normal?"
There was a silence before the Bolo answered. "Apparently my normal vision monitors are nonfunctional. Would you accept infrared, ultraviolet or simulated normal light visuals?"
"The simulation, please." Rheinhardt's mottled view cleared, showing him the edge of the military compound. Startled guards stood out in the light, eyes wide but weapons ready as the Bolo bore down upon them.
"Slow down, please. Can you get me a communications link with the post commandant?"
"Affirmative."
"General Wiesen, speaking; who is this?"
"General, Colonel Rheinhardt. You were supposed to have the gate opened for the Bolo."
"It is open," Wiesen replied, somewhat annoyed.
"We are just in front of it and your guards are standing at port arms in front of the Bolo," Rheinhardt replied. "I admire their courage even while I question their intelligence."
"I'll sort it out immediately."
"Thank you, General." Shortly the guards moved aside and opened the gates. The Bolo moved through without any additional orders.
"One question, Colonel-" General Wiesen's voice was lost in a rush of static.
"Communications signal lost, shall I reconnect?" the Bolo asked.
"No," Rheinhardt replied, "that won't be necessary. Wiesen's a nosy old busybody. Just continue with the operation and inform me if we get any contact from the General Staff." A flashing red light in the left display distracted Rheinhardt.
"What's that?" Even before the Bolo could react, the colonel swore to himself and amended, "What's that red light flashing on my left display?"
"Switching left display to main display," the Bolo replied.
Rheinhardt blinked as the main display shrank and moved left while the left display grew and moved directly in front of him. The red light, grown larger with the change of display position, flashed, <>.
"Checksum error?"
"Data provided to processor D did not agree with the checksum for the data," the Bolo explained. "Either the processor is suffering a recurring failure on some of the data address lines or the checksum address lines are faulty."
"Is this normal?"
"It is outside of standard operating parameters," the Bolo said. "Since reactivation, this combat unit has had numerous checksum errors occur on all processors."
"Can you work around them?"
"For the present," the Bolo replied. "However, within the next ninety-eight point four-three hours, the probability of critical failure is within operational parameters with command supervision."
"<|>'Command supervision'? What do you expect of me?"
"In the event of a failure of one or more of the subprocessors, this combat unit will require command input."
"I see," Rheinhardt said, "your computer systems work with a five-lobe voting system. The majority vote wins."
"That is essentially correct," the Bolo agreed. "There is a 99.98% probability that one or more processors will fail permanently before the completion of the assigned mission. In that event, I have arranged to receive your input as a supplement."
"What happens to me if your systems fail completely?"
"The most catastrophic failure for a command supervisor would be total annihilation of this unit," the Bolo said. "In that case there is a zero point zero one percent chance that the Command Supervisor would survive."
"I was thinking of something less . . . catastrophic," Rheinhardt said. "What if your systems fail completely?"
"In the event of a processor failure, the power systems will be crippled and the interlocks on your combat position will be released," the Bolo informed him. "You can then manually remove the headset. Directly above you will see a yellow-striped black handle. Pull it down to activate the explosive ejection system."
"Ejection system?"
"It is designed to eject you and the command chair you sit on safely in all circumstances barring complete fusion of the compartment hatch to the exterior hull."
"Hmm, I see," Rheinhardt said, with a slight loss of enthusiasm.
"There is one more safety feature for that instance," the Bolo continued, "but I doubt it would be much assistance to you."
"What is it?" Rheinhardt asked, glancing around the various displays.
"An emergency command frequency beacon," the Bolo responded. "It broadcasts a Mayday on all Bolo comm frequencies. Any Bolo receiving a broadcast must respond and render aid."
"Hm." Given the chance of a nearby Bolo, Rheinhardt was unimpressed.
"In combat it has proven that even a heavily damaged Bolo managed to retrieve a trapped Commander."
General of the KriegsArmee Friedrich Marcks hovered impatiently over the communications console in the headquarters command center. "Well?"
The harried communications officer looked up at him bleakly, rubbing his haggard face and wishing that his morning relief would come. "Still no luck, sir. We have been unable to raise the Bolo on all combat frequencies."
General Marius, standing behind his commander-in-chief, nervously muttered, "We've heard nothing since Wiesen last spoke to them."
Marcks turned to him, his unshaven face at odds with the intensity of his expression. "General Wiesen is certain that the Bolo went east?"
Marius nodded slowly. "Colonel Rheinhardt ordered him to open the gate himself."
General Marcks turned to General Sliecher, his head of Intelligence. "Have you got a fix on them yet?"
"No, sir, the Bolo leaves a surprisingly small trail behind it."
"Wiesen's men clocked it moving at over one-thirty," Marius added in amazement.
Major Krüger frowned sourly. "At that rate, it'll be in the mountains in six hours."
Marcks' face went white. He snapped his fingers at the Major. "What weapons do we have against the Bolo?"
"Sir, you cannot think that Colonel Rheinhardt would betray us!"
"No," the General replied sadly, "not at all. I am afraid that the Bolo has gone insane. We must destroy it. What weapons will do that job?"
"I know of none, sir," Major Krüger said after a long, painful pause.
"The first thing is to immobilize it," Marcks decided. "How can we do that?"
"Perhaps a tank trap," Major Krüger suggested.
"First we have to find it!" General Marius exclaimed.
"True," General Sliecher agreed.
"It's your job," Marius said accusingly.
Sliecher's eyes gleamed wickedly. "Indeed. General Marcks, perhaps my Noufrench counterpart would be of assistance?"
"Oh, I'm sure he'd love to help us destroy our Bolo!"
"All operatives assure me that this is a genuine request," General Jean-Paul Renoir, Chef d'Intelligence de l'Armée du Noufrance, told the general staff as he stood before them. He had traveled throughout the night from the satellite control station to headquarters but there was no hot coffee or croissants to greet him-only cold, tired faces.
"They want our bombers to destroy their nightmare," General Villiers, Chef du Material, said with outrage.
"I fear it is not just their nightmare, Jacques," General Cartier, Chef d'Armée, said, laying a calming hand on the rotund general's shoulder. "We have been aware of its existence for some time. The Bolo attempted to penetrate into our military network."
He paused while his generals absorbed this information. "Fortunately, we detected it and set up an elaborate ruse to misinform the machine. This effort was led by General Lambert who is still at the satellite control station, just north of Nouparis.
"The operation has only been in existence for some days now. We feel that it has proved successful." He paused, his lips drawn into a thin line. "Our success may well prove to be our undoing. It appears we have driven this thing mad."
General Renoir noted, "There is a chance that we can work this to our advantage. A combined operation, if successful, would strengthen ties between our two military establishments. If we help destroy this metal monster, our enemy will be honor-bound to deal with us peacefully."
"You are so mad for peace?" General Villiers mocked.
"Peace, particularly on our terms, is always preferable to war," the Chef d'Intelligence returned scathingly.
"I say let the Bolo wipe out our enemies for us!"
"And once it has done that, will it stop?" Renoir snapped in rejoinder. "No, better destroy it now when our combined air force has a chance than let it destroy us piecemeal."
General Cartier, who had listened to the whole exchange intently, made up his mind. "We shall help the Bayerische. We will make them pay for the ammunition, n'est-ce pas?"
General Villiers gave in reluctantly, "We have little enough ammunition as it is."
For to win one hundred victories in one hundred battles is not the acme of skill. To subdue the enemy without fighting is the acme of skill.
-Sun Tzu
"One must always study the enemy, Scratche," Jyncji Fleet Admiral Baron Rastle Speare said to his adjutant, Midshipman Jenkis Scratche.
"Study the enemy," Scratche repeated dutifully, as though committing the admiral's sage advice to memory. In fact, the young Jyncji officer had heard this speech so often that it already was committed to memory. But he knew that his chances of independent command and advancement depended upon staying in the Admiral's good graces.
"Yes," Speare repeated, "study the enemy. Understand their logic, learn from them."
"Learn from them," Scratche murmured dutifully. Use their tactics against them, the young Jyncji thought to himself. They were on the battle bridge, preparing to jump from the distant fringes of the human system to the lush, warm, desirable green planet fourth from the sun. A planet soon to be theirs.
Scratche could imagine the wealth of his very own Jyncji-formed lands. Count Scratche, or Earl Scratche, what shall I be, the Midshipman mused. The actinic glare of the harsh battle lights did not prevent him imagining the lush warming rays of an orange sun.
Scratche could count on his Admiral to be generous. And if he could not-he would find ways to ensure such generosity. In the meantime, he would keep his spines to himself, his snout firmly lowered, his claws sheathed, and his tone deferential. It was a difficult position for a Jyncji-not to be attacking with tooth and claw, nor yet to be huddled inside the defensive shield of sharp spine that lined his back. Scratche felt his spines tingling with fear, while his blood flowed hot with war-lust.
"Use their tactics against them," Speare said. The admiral's breath smelled just faintly of fehral.
Trust the old rodent to be blitzed before an attack! Scratche thought to himself. He filed the information away with the merest twitching of his snout. One day he might use it to prick the Admiral's pride. For the moment he would keep the information tight inside him, just as he kept his spines tightly furled against about his back.
"And just what are their tactics, Milord Admiral?" Captain Sir Creve Pierce, Knight of the Puissant Order of Spears, inquired. He approached the raised command chair from the side where he had been overseeing the navigation officer.
Milord Admiral eyed his Admiralty-appointed flag-officer with ill-disguised contempt. He hissed, "You know my orders, Captain, be sure you follow them."
Captain Pierce lowered his muzzle obeisantly, his black eyes glinting fiercely in the intense white light of the battle bridge. "I shall, milord, and you will have no quarrel with me," the Captain said. "I merely asked, as we have arrived at that point when our jump in-system is imminent."
"One of their most ancient sages, Sir Captain, said that the epitome of skill is not to fight but to let your enemy fight himself into surrender," the Admiral replied. He turned to his adjutant. "Fetch me the latest from our probe. They must be fighting by now."
Speare turned back to the captain, nostrils twitching as though smelling the blood of the kill. "Soon, captain, soon we will jump in and collect their surrender."
"I am much relieved to hear that, milord," the Captain replied obsequiously, "I feared that the Admiralty might grow ill-disposed towards this venture after our long wait here at the edge of this solar system."
"Once the humans have been disposed of, it shall only be a matter of months before the planet is rightfully ours." Three hundred human years had passed since the first, abortive attempt by Speare's long-distant ancestor, Sheik William, to conquer the human world. The ignominy of that defeat had been carefully hidden among other Jyncji conquests. But the venture had cost Speare's line immeasurably in both prestige and wealth. Now he, Rastle of the lesser Speares, would avenge the dishonor that had left the spiny backs of Speares furled against their bodies in shame.
"Colonel," the Bolo's voice drew Colonel Rheinhardt back from his ruminations about the forthcoming operation, "I have managed to penetrate the Noufrench military network."
"How?" Rheinhardt examined the combat displays. "They haven't detected you, have they?"
"They believe so, however their software security systems are no match for my efforts." The Bolo continued. "I have determined that the Noufrench were not responsible for the near-destruction of the terraforming microbes three hundred years ago."
Rheinhardt frowned. "Well, I'm certain we didn't do it. I suspect their records were destroyed."
"Perhaps their military records," the Bolo allowed, "but not their population statistics and agricultural reports. Those show clearly a deliberate, widespread assault on both the terraforming microbes and the staple crops of all areas of human habitation. My combat analysis indicates that another force was responsible."
"Some mutation of the planet's original ecosystem?" Rheinhardt mused, more interested in when they would cross the border than ancient history. By his reckoning, it should be any moment now. They had been on the move for several hours already.
"Negative," the Bolo said. "The planet's ecosystem is not sufficiently advanced. Even if it were, the distribution of the failure was from the center outward rather than from the outside of the terraformed area inward. That indicates a deliberate attempt."
"This is interesting," the Colonel said. "Relay a copy of your data and findings to our G-2, General Sliecher, please."
"There will not be time for that."
Rheinhardt narrowed his eyes. "Why not? We should be able to do it as soon as you begin your attacks. The 'frenchies will know where you are then, certainly, so radio silence will not be an issue."
"I have calculated that the force responsible for the original destructive microbial infestation and outbreak of hostilities between Noufrance and Bayern has planned another attack," the Bolo announced.
"What? That's-" A rippling eruption of high explosives drowned out Colonel Rheinhardt's words.
"A direct hit! Excellent!" General Marius exclaimed jubilantly. They were still in the combat center but had moved from the communications post to the Battle Room. A large vidscreen relayed the sights and sounds of the devastation that ten tonnes of explosives had produced. Idly he glanced back at the tray containing the half-eaten sandwiches and coffee cups that had been lunch and wondered if a celebratory snack was in order.
"It's still moving," Major Krüger said, voice half-dejected, half-amazed.
"It won't for long," General Sliecher declared, "our bombers are making their pass now."
General Marcks paid no attention to their conversation. Instead, he directed himself to a vid-link. "General Cartier, it looks as though I shall have to ask, on behalf of the Astral, that your planes re-arm and return for another assault."
The Chef d'Armee du Noufrance nodded stoically. Figures scurried in the background behind him, one handed him a report. He glanced at it briefly, scowled in disgust and returned his gaze to the vid-link. "General Marcks, I must agree with you. L'Empereur-our Emperor-has authorized me to comply with any demands your government might reasonably make to aid in neutralizing this deranged implement of war."
General Marcks kept his face impassive but his eyes flashed at the unspoken rebuke delivered by the Noufrench supreme officer. "We all, General, as professionals, must remain constantly aware of the dangers of sophisticated weapons of destruction."
"Oui."
"What was that?" Rheinhardt shouted, desperately searching the multiple displays in his combat visor. He could not hear himself, the explosions outside had been so loud. The air smelled of burnt wiring and hot metal. The Bolo heaved, jerked a little and continued on. "Are you damaged?"
"I have sustained no major loss of combat ability," the Bolo reported. "I am tracking a westward flight of approximately forty jet-propelled aerial vehicles."
"Bombers? Shoot them down!"
"Negative," the Bolo said. "They will be required for future operations."
"They are enemy bombers!" Rheinhardt shouted, slamming a fist against his cushioned restraints in futile emphasis.
"No," the Bolo responded, "they are Noufrench bombers." Rheinhardt's main display changed to a relief map, displaying two flights of aircraft, one receding westward, one approaching from the east.
"Bayerische bombers approaching as predicted," the Bolo noted calmly.
"Shoot down the bloody 'french!" Rheinhardt yelled. "That's a direct order!"
"That contravenes your original order," the Bolo replied.
Rheinhardt was outraged. "My order was to destroy the enemy."
"Nearly correct," the Bolo agreed. "Your orders were to destroy the enemy in an optimal manner. The Noufrench are not the most dangerous enemy, therefore destroying them at this time is non-optimal. I compute that I shall not remain combat effective upon completion of the primary mission. However, my calculations indicate that with the destruction of the enemy, enmity between Noufrance and Bayern will cease, at least as regards further military actions.
"Bombers commencing their run now," the Bolo called. All further reports were lost as a long, loud pounding filled the air. Rheinhardt's body throbbed in the rolling concussions which battered the Bolo's hull. He let out a long scream of sheer terror but never heard it. The earth shook, rolled, steadied.
Several moments later, the Bolo reported, "The bombers have completed their run and are returning to base. Next assault is in-in-"
Rheinhardt let out a gasp as the Bolo was thrown into the air and fell back to the ground with its metal hull audibly groaning as it was twisted in the blasts. The pounding continued, the hull armor shrieked at the pressures exerted on it. Rheinhardt felt a sharp pressure as his left eardrum burst and a warm trickle as blood rolled out his ear and down his collar.
Screens flickered and shrank in Rheinhardt's CVC helmet. For a moment, everything was black. Then the screens flickered again, the main one dodged left and was replaced by a sea of red critical failure lights.
"Bolo?" Rheinhardt called. Nothing. He tried again, "Das Afrika Korps, report."
"Beautiful! Beautiful!" General Marius crowed, nearly dancing with joy in front of the vid-link display of the massive bombing run. Flames flickered in the depths of the explosions, barely visible amongst the huge clouds of smoke that snaked upwards from the ground.
"It's not moving," Major Krüger observed. "We stopped it."
Static crackled in his earphones. A hiss replaced it. "Das Afrika Korps reports. Milnet data-link hardware destroyed as anticipated. Minor damage to hull, 20% of reactive armor inoperative but no critical areas exposed. Minor damage to track, increasing cumulative damage from 49% to 51% of combat limit. Additional scoring on external optics, cumulative damage at 37% of combat limit. Degradation and damage to 5% of total on-line data storage devices, operational volatile memory at 57% of total, 3% of volatile memory free.
"Current position forty kilometers from coastal insertion point, next attack anticipated in ten minutes."
"Coastal insertion point?" Rheinhardt queried. His momentary surprise at his sore throat was relieved by the realization that he had gone deaf in one ear and was shouting to compensate. Somewhere in the hull metal had melted, he could smell it.
"The anticipated point from the land into the sea. At this point air attacks should cease and there is a 92.3% chance that the enemy will conclude that this unit has ceased to have combat effectiveness."
Colonel Rheinhardt sat silently as he digested this information. He stretched as best he could in the combat restraints, collecting his thoughts and calming his nerves. "Those were our bombers in that last attack?"
"Yes. Approximately fifteen metric tonnes mix of high explosives, armor-piercing kinetic projectiles and some small number of armor ablatives," the Bolo said. "As calculated, your Bayerische command has concluded that this unit has gone rogue and must be destroyed."
Illumination dawned on the colonel. "We went out the wrong gate! You lied to me!"
"No," the Bolo replied.
"Speak up!" Rheinhardt shouted irritably.
"The gate was the correct gate to use for optimal destruction of the enemy," the Bolo said. Apologetically it added, "I regret that my smart armor was nonfunctional or I would have spared your ears the worst of the blasts."
"It was not the gate you were supposed to use," Rheinhardt said, ignoring the feeble apology.
"I am programmed to provide independent optimization of all military operations if given such latitude," the Bolo said.
"And my 'optimal' stipulation gave you all that latitude?" Colonel Rheinhardt surmised. "Then listen carefully, Bolo Das Afrika Korps, your Commander orders you to implement Operation Totalize."
"New orders understood and accepted," the Bolo responded. "Please provide details of Operation Totalize."
Colonel Rheinhardt's eyes grew wide. "You were issued the details of Operation Totalize via the Milnet data-link."
"A military data plan was received over the Milnet data-link," the Bolo agreed, "however it was stored in an area of memory that has become damaged in the past two bombings."
Rheinhardt absorbed that incredulously. "You put the damned data in unshielded memory!"
"That is quite possible," the Bolo agreed. "It would seem to be a logical outcome of your original orders that I ensure you would not be disposed towards countermanding them."
"Well I am-" Rheinhardt broke off, perplexed. "Why would you need my approval?"
"As predicted, one of my processors-Processor B-has failed," the Bolo replied. "You can now order this operation curtailed. I calculate that, unless this operation succeeds, there is a 98.9% chance that all human life on this planet will be terminated within eighteen months."
Rheinhardt frowned. "I need evidence of this claim."
"Center screen." the Bolo said. The center screen changed images, displaying a map of the local solar system. "The red blips are targets identified as moving under intelligent control. Preliminary data indicate that they do not conform to any known human space vehicle."
"Your data is three centuries old," Rheinhardt pointed out.
"True, and incomplete owing to data loss," the Bolo admitted. "However, the vehicles do not conform to any extrapolation of previously known vehicles."
"Science moves in leaps, Bolo." Rheinhardt reminded it. "You were totally unaware of Quirthian logic."
"I have corrected that and am now employing a Quirthian analogue circuit," the Bolo said. "Even with its abilities, I predict that these ships have less than a .03% chance of human origin."
Rheinhardt's brows rose respectfully. "No one has been able to manufacture a Quirthian strand utilizing Von Neumann architecture."
"It was not difficult," the Bolo replied. "If you look at the tracks of the vehicles, you will note that a logical projection of their current trajectories will put them into attack position over the planet in some eighteen point five-four hours."
"If you do not know their origin, how can you predict their intentions?"
"If you note the bright pink dot on your screen, near the larger moon, you will see that I have identified it as an intelligence gathering device," the Bolo answered. "Since I have penetrated the Noufrench satellite control, I have been monitoring several attempts by that device to cause malfunctions in the satellites, thus disabling our only deep space surveillance systems."
"They could be trying to communicate," Rheinhardt objected.
"Negative. Communications require power levels orders of magnitude below those employed by that device. Its intent is clearly harmful.
"That information, in conjunction with my earlier observations about the assault on your planet's ecosystem three centuries ago lead me to a 98% certainty that we are facing a renewed attack by the same force which failed in its previous efforts to eradicate human life from this planet."
"Why don't they merely repeat the original assault?" Rheinhardt asked. "Goodness knows, it was successful enough."
"They will. However, the force assembled is too large for merely a xeno-forming infestation. They must realize that the terraforming microbes which survived the initial assault developed an increased immunity to similar assaults," the Bolo said. "Besides, the enemy is being offered an unique opportunity to economize in its use of force."
"What?"
"This war," the Bolo replied. "Bomber assault wave converging as anticipated. Next attack in ten . . . nine . . ."
"Amazing!" General Marcks exclaimed as he viewed the aerial videos of the third bombing run.
"It is still functional," he told General Cartier. "The Bolo has crawled out of the crater and is moving forward."
"It is heading for the sea, General," Major Krüger added, "it will enter near the Krazneutz ravine."
"Hmm, we shall make sure that it does not reach it."
"Ninety-eight percent of the bombs were direct hits!" General Sliecher said in a mixture of pride and amazement.
"General Marcks, perhaps I should have my force re-armed for another strike?" General Cartier suggested.
General Marcks cast a glance at Major Krüger who could only shrug in response.
"Yes, that might be wise," the commander of the Bayerische KriegsArmee replied.
Rheinhardt's good ear was numb from the repeated bombings. He fought back nausea as his inner ear attempted to recover from the repeated concussions. His breath came in gasps, with difficulty. The air was hot. With great effort he heard himself say reasonably, "Bolo, we have nothing to stop a bacteriological assault from aliens."
"That is not true," the Bolo replied. "It has been my main concern."
"You have a solution?"
"Yes," the Bolo replied. "A beam of coherent light set to a suitable wavelength could force the bacteriant to dissociate."
"Could you say that in plain German, please?"
"I shall fire my main gun along the flight path of their bacterial assault ship."
"And get the ship, too, or they'll just come around for another attack."
"That is my intention."
"What is to prevent them from destroying you beforehand?" Rheinhardt asked. "You are clearly the greatest threat."
"That is why I shall appear to have been destroyed before they make their assault," the Bolo answered. Rheinhardt's screens switched to an aerial map as the Bolo said, "The next Bayerische assault group approaches."
"Wait, Bolo! You're heading for the Krazneutz ravine! That's a drop of a thousand meters!"
"I know," the Bolo replied. "Please ensure that your combat restraints are securely fastened."
"They're tight!" Rheinhardt affirmed pulling on them earnestly. "Do you honestly expect us to survive that fall?"
"Yes," the Bolo replied simply. "However, there is a forty percent chance that I shall lose one or more of my voting processors."
"What can I do?"
"First, approve the current operation as detailed to you by me," the Bolo replied.
"Show me that star map again." The red dots of the enemy ships were closer, their orbits traced in fine fiery lines. Rheinhardt let out a long sigh. "Okay, your operation is approved."
"Second, agree to act as tie-breaker if required."
"Tie breaker?"
"I have five voting processors," the Bolo explained, "in the event that I lose one or three, I shall require your vote on certain operations."
"What if you lose four?"
"Then I shall initiate emergency shut down procedures," the Bolo replied. "However, the probability is very low."
"All right," Rheinhardt agreed. "Anything else?"
"Third, consider your actions once this unit has been destroyed."
"Destroyed? When-" Colonel Rheinhardt's words were drowned out by the sound of exploding bombs.
"A message from Intelligence, milord," Midshipman Jenkis Scratche said, handing over the message pouch.
Admiral Lord Baron Rastle Speare received the pouch, opened it and scanned its contents.
"A Bolo!" The words hissed from his muzzle in anger. "They attacked it! It has fallen into the sea. Our sensors can no longer detect it. The humans are convinced that it has been destroyed."
"A Bolo," Captain Pierce growled. "They destroyed a Bolo, milord. Our fleet would suffer grievously against such a force."
"Nonsense, Pierce!" the Admiral snarled in response. "Do you believe for an instant that they did not pay dearly for such a victory? Most of their equipment must be damaged, their forces demoralized. It must be a bitter victory." The Admiral bared his teeth in a savage smile. "Now is the time to strike! Send the order: jump in-system. Launch the assault!"
A deep-throated growl from the dozen voices on the battle bridge filled the air with the sense of impending victory.
"General Cartier, it appears we will not be needing your aircraft after all," General Marcks said after he recovered from the spectacular eruption relayed on the vid-link before him. Krazneutz ravine, a drop of five hundred meters to the sea, no longer existed. In its place, as the billowing dust clouds slowly revealed, was a gently sloping hill leading into the sea. Of the Bolo, target of the incredible force which had levelled a hilltop and filled a ravine, there was no sign at all.
"Thermal imaging is still obscured by the dust, General," General Sliecher reported. "However, I cannot believe that the Bolo could have survived both the fall and the bombardment." He shivered with the memory. "Nothing could have survived that bombardment."
General Marcks paid him no mind. He was staring at the vid-link which connected his headquarters to those of his counterpart, General Cartier. The screen crackled with static. "Have the bombers turned back?"
"Full alert! Full alert, you heard me!" General Cartier shouted over the uproar in the combat room. "Get all units on full alert immediately! Target those bombers for the Bayerische High Command!"
"But, General, we don't know they're going to attack!" General Renoir protested for the third time.
"Then why haven't they responded to us?" General Cartier demanded. He turned to an orderly. "Get me General Lambert at the satellite control center, immediately."
"They may be having communications difficulties," Renoir protested feebly.
General Cartier turned to look squarely at his Chef d'Intelligence. "Renoir, why do they suddenly have difficulties now that they no longer need our planes?"
"Sir, we used over forty percent of our combat stock of aerial munitions against the Bolo," General Villiers noted anxiously.
"Wonderful! We waste our ammunition on their problem and they attack us!"
An orderly handed a note to General Renoir. The aging general read it carefully and paled. "Mon General, it grieves me to inform you that we are now receiving reports that Bayerische KriegsArmee units are massing in their assembly areas."
General Cartier gently took the note from the trembling hands of his intelligence officer.
An orderly called, "General Cartier, I have reached General Lambert. He is on screen two."
Chef d'Armée General Cartier turned to the second large vid-link, ready to issue orders but Lambert burst out, "General, we are under attack!"
"Colonel, please respond," a funny voice tittered in Rheinhardt's ears. He was sweaty and felt funny. No, he felt awful.
"Colonel Rheinhardt." The voice was high-pitched and chittery, like a normal voice replayed at high speed. "Please respond."
"Umm," Karl croaked. His voice tittered in his ears, just like the other. He opened his eyes, or tried to-his left eyelid refused to budge. "Where am I?"
"You are in the supervisory compartment inside Bolo Mark XVI Model C, Das Afrika Korps."
"Who the hell are you?" Rheinhardt barked. He rubbed his left eyelid. His hand came away bloody but the eye opened. He sniffed the air-it was cooler, easier to breathe but something was odd about it.
"Bolo Das Afrika Korps."
"No you're not. The Bolo has a different voice."
"Your chamber has been filled with a helium-oxygen mixture to accommodate the current operating conditions," the Bolo said.
"Has it?" Rheinhardt asked, his senses returning. "And what are those?"
"We are currently at a depth of two thousand meters, maneuvering just off the continental shelf," the Bolo replied.
Rheinhardt came fully awake. "I did not realize that you could operate at this depth."
"The pressures on my hull are insignificant compared with those normally sustained in combat," the Bolo said, "I could descend another seven thousand meters without difficulty. However, that is not required for the current mission."
"What happened?"
"As predicted, the last assault wave threw us out into the sea while providing sufficient coverage to enable this vehicle to descend beneath normal surveillance levels."
"They think they destroyed you, then," Rheinhardt concluded.
"There is a ninety-seven point nine percent chance, yes," the Bolo agreed. "Jamming began some thirty seconds after the final videos of the bombing run were returned to the two command centers."
"Jamming?"
"Yes," the Bolo said. "I initiated a wide frequency combat jamming utilizing the communications satellites."
"But-but-they'll be confused. The 'frenchies will think we did it deliberately and our command will think they did it! You'll start a war."
"There is a ninety-four point three percent chance that both sides will deploy their forces for immediate hostilities," the Bolo agreed. "It seemed the most logical way to ensure that all human forces were ready for the upcoming combat. I perceive from my conversations with you that attempting to convince the combined staffs of this threat would have been a futile endeavor."
"And the aliens?"
"They will have observed the assault on this combat unit, will observe the warlike preparations between the two factions and commence their assault as predicted," the Bolo replied almost smugly. "I calculate that their assault forces will be deployed well before this combat unit again becomes detectable. At that time it should be possible to neutralize their bacteriological assault and their ground offensive simultaneously."
"Why wouldn't they launch their bacteriological assault first and simply haul off and wait for everyone to die?"
"First, because they have been active in this solar system for several months and must rapidly be approaching the point where their continued presence becomes uneconomical. Second, the last time they launched a strictly bacteriological assault they failed to destroy the human settlement. Third, because they have jumped in-system and assumed a combat formation in orbit, concentrated over the population centers of this planet."
"Hmm." Colonel Rheinhardt received the Bolo's rundown with pursed lips. He was distracted by blood oozing down from a cut above his left eye. "Do you have a first aid kit, I seem to have sustained some damage."
"The first aid kit is located above your head on the right," the Bolo replied. "Although I do not see why you would need it, I estimate that you are 51.2% effective, more than sufficient to fill the role of auxiliary processor."
Rheinhardt made a noise that came out as a cross between a groan and the growl he had meant.
"I am removing your CVC helmet and releasing your forward restraints. You should have little difficulty in accessing the kit."
"While I'm increasing my effectiveness, why don't you outline your plan of operations to this auxiliary processor?"
"Up to my demise or after?"
"Your demise?" Rheinhardt frowned. "I thought you had planned merely to mislead the enemy into believing your demise."
"True," the Bolo agreed. "However, upon my re-appearance, I shall become the priority target for the enemy. They shall concentrate all fire on me, enabling you to implement your successful counter-attack."
"You plan to drop me off just before their attack and draw their fire to give the combined armies time to concentrate against the aliens, is that it?"
"With the exception that I plan to intercept their bacteriant, yes," the Bolo agreed. "Their assault on me should allow you to determine their level of ability and the tactics they employ. That information is required to produce a successful counter."
Rheinhardt reflected upon that. "It would seem to me that it would be better to allow the enemy to start its assault on the combined armies, determine their tactics, and ensure that they possess no weapons beyond the capabilities of our combined armies-something which I find hard to accept."
"They have five ships in their fleet," the Bolo said. "Judging by satellite data and their trajectories, and extrapolating from the enemy's previous assaults and intent of occupying this planet, I would place the individual alien enemy at between point five and two meters height." Rheinhardt raised a brow skeptically but the Bolo either failed to notice or paid the expression no heed.
"Additionally I calculate that they are oxygen breathers who find this atmosphere and gravity acceptable with only minor alterations. Given those parameters, their attack fleet could contain no more than ten thousand ground troops, probably less."
"Small force," Rheinhardt said. "What about nuclears?"
"There are no signs of aggregate radioactive sources," the Bolo replied. "I conclude from that and their projected war aims that they do not possess nuclear weapons, nor would the use of such weapons be to their advantage."
"We're concentrated in a small area, why not?"
"Because the enemy has intercepted the data manufactured by the Noufrench. That data indicates an arsenal sufficient to render this planet untenable."
"MAD," Rheinhardt muttered to himself.
"You are referring to the acronym for Mutual Assured Destruction of mid-twentieth century Earth. The strategic nuclear situation does bear marked similarities."
"So they won't use nuclear weapons. What other weapons could they possess?"
"That question is not pertinent," the Bolo responded. "The pertinent question is which weapons will they use?"
"Same thing."
"Sloppy thinking, Colonel," the Bolo said. "The classes of weapons of utility in the upcoming conflict are kinetic kill weapons, coherent energy weapons and xeno-forming bacteriants."
"You're saying that their weaponry will match ours?"
"The classes of weaponry will match," the Bolo corrected, "but the capabilities are indeterminate at this stage."
Rheinhardt pursed his lips thoughtfully. "If your assumptions are correct, they are planning to occupy this planet. That means they'll have colony equipment in addition to combat gear."
"Obviously."
Rheinhardt heard condescension in the Bolo's tone. He cast a measuring glance at the spot he regarded as the Bolo's brain. "That limitation will affect how long they can afford to engage us in combat."
"You are moving towards a conclusion," the Bolo observed. "I must ask you to move quickly as time is in short supply."
"For how long can they engage us?"
The Bolo pondered the question for a long time. "It is difficult to say with any accuracy"-a series of screens full of data and graphs scrolled rapidly before Rheinhardt's eyes-"however, the normal distribution would indicate that the enemy has combat supplies for somewhere between three hours and three weeks, given standard engagement tactics."
"And how long-"
"A median estimate is that it will take the enemy less than five hours to destroy all Noufrench and Bayerische armed forces," the Bolo said, answering Rheinhardt's half-asked question.
Rheinhardt swore.
"Your invective confirms my projections," the Bolo observed. "Without some extraordinary occurrence, there is little likelihood that your combined forces will withstand the enemy assault."
"Gott im Himmel, where did they come from?" Leutnant Otto, right wingman of the IXth Bayerische Flug Grüppe shouted over his radio. The sky had been clear horizon to horizon only seconds ago.
"And where are they going?" Capitan Freiherr, his wing leader wanted to know as he kicked in his afterburner to thrust after the rapidly diminishing craft.
The two men were half of IX Flug Gruppe.
"I've been acquired! They've got a lock! I'm-" the wingman's exclamation broke off just as a brilliant burst of light erupted behind his wing leader. The wing leader broke right, diving deeply, pushing his plane in a torturous outside loop.
"They got my wing man!" the Captain radioed back to base as he levelled out of the loop and peeled off sharply to the left. "I've taken evasive action-they're on my tail! Must be five or more! How could they-"
When the first reports came in, General Marcks rounded sharply on Sliecher. "Where the hell did they get that?"
The elderly Intelligence officer was at a stuttering loss to explain the sudden appearance of the new high-speed aircraft. Face white with dread, he grimly reviewed the stream of incoming battle reports.
"They've knocked out most of two wings already, sir," an aide reported. The room was full of be-medalled orderlies and aides scurrying about with an air of competence overlaying an odor of fear. Something had gone wrong, no one needed to actually see the reports to know that much.
"Survivors report they escaped by diving near friendly anti-aircraft batteries," another aide added, handing a fresh report to General Sliecher.
"How many?" General Marcks demanded, holding out his hand irritably for the report.
"Three so far, sir," the aide said, passing the report over with an apologetic look towards his superior.
"Out of twenty," Marcks muttered to himself. He turned to Major Krüger. "Krüger, have they started their ground offensive yet?"
Major Krüger looked up from his position over the terrain computers. "No, sir," he replied with a shake of his head, "their forces are holding steady." He frowned. "There's an awful lot of traffic flowing, General Sliecher's boys are convinced we'll crack their battle codes soon."
"Just in time to surrender," an indiscreet orderly murmured too near his commander. General Marcks raised his head and silenced him with a glower. The General of the Bayerische KriegsArmee could not hold the look for long.
"Try to raise the 'french command again," he ordered the tactless orderly. "See what terms they are proposing." He rubbed a hand across his face wearily.
"Herr General, the enemy is still jamming our communications," a comm tech announced despondently.
"General, it is hopeless," General Lambert advised his superior over the vid-link. He was trapped at the satellite communications center, hastily turned into a makeshift operations center. His eyes were bleary, his face unshaven. "Whatever they've got, it's better than our fighters."
"How come we never found out about these?" General Cartier demanded of General Renoir, his Intelligence officer. They were gathered in the mobile command center that formed the brains of the Armée du Noufrance. The command center was camouflaged with newly cut foliage and smelled of uprooted forest. But Cartier had no spare thought for the devastated ecology.
General Renoir shook his head, "I cannot believe they developed these in secret. Perhaps their Bolo was a ruse to distract us but my men were very thorough-"
General Cartier cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It does not matter now," he said. "Can we fight them?"
"We have lost half of our attack fighters already, sir," an aide reported. "Those who survived did so by diving towards our AA and letting the ground-based troops get the attackers."
"I want one for analysis!" General Renoir barked.
The aide nodded. "I have already seen to it, General."
General Cartier had paid no attention to the interplay going on around him. Instead he lifted a brow meaningfully at the vid-link and his Operations officer. Lambert interpreted the gesture correctly and shook his head despondently. "Gentlemen, we must contact the Bayerische for their peace terms," his announcement brought silence upon the gathering. "I shall inform the Emperor."
"We have destroyed over forty percent of their air craft!" Scratche growled triumphantly to his admiral.
"D'ya hear that, Pierce? Forty percent already!" the Admiral barked exultantly to his Flag Captain.
Captain Sir Creve Pierce looked up from his battle console and managed an acknowledging nod. "Most credible, milord."
Admiral Baron Rastle Speare glanced sharply at his Admiralty-appointed Captain, wondering vaguely whether the Captain had tendered him insult, and decided to ignore it in favor of his good fortune. The Captain, Scratche noted to himself, could be dealt with later.
Pierce turned to the Midshipman of the watch. "Is the second wave prepared?"
"It is, Captain," the young midshipman replied. His eyes did not meet the Captain's.
Pierce growled deep in his throat, "And?"
"There is some concern about casualties among the first wave and-"
"What, are they not Jyncji, did they not die honorably?" Speare rasped.
"Indeed, milord," Pierce agreed. "But our group sent to destroy their communications satellites are overdue and have not reported. If they are counted as lost-"
"Our probes mentioned no problems with the comsats."
"They were too close to the planet itself to get good surveillance, milord."
"Bah! Someone forget to call back in the heat of victory, so? Shall we let that spoil ours?"
"But if it were not so, milord-"
"Send the second wave!" Admiral Speare roared. "Send them, now, Pierce!"
"Aye aye, milord," Pierce responded. He turned to the midshipman, "Note in the log, if you would, that in the twenty-second moment of the engagement, milord Admiral has ordered the second wave to the assault."
"Aye, sir," the midshipman responded hesitantly. He was puzzled-his Captain had specifically instructed him on a very routine affair. "The second wave is engaged."
"Thirty moments to bacterial seeding," the Special Weapons Officer added.
"The Barb is on orbit?" Speare growled.
"Aye, Admiral," the Special Weapons Officer responded. "Coming up on the terminator in ten moments."
"Terminator?" Speare muttered to himself.
"I think he means the horizon, Admiral," Scratche elucidated.
"I know that, damn ye!" Milord responded with rightful irritation and not a little pleasure at having drawn blood on his small ploy. The midshipman started, bristles flaring but quickly brought himself under control.
"I beg your pardon, milord," Scratche replied with a sigh, "I meant that as a hypothesis-was I right?"
"Captain, see to it that this Mid-ship-man of mine gets remedial drill in orbital nomenclature," the Admiral barked, basking in the additional pleasure of having absorbed the Captain into his small game.
"I shall instruct your Flag Lieutenant, milord," Pierce responded unflappably, "clearly he has been remiss."
Speare hid a snarl with a dismissive wave of his hat. Drat the prickly old beast, he swore to himself.
A lieutenant with a worried look passed a dispatch to the Captain. Pierce read it hastily. "Milord, it grieves me to report that our first wave casualties have reached thirty-five percent. Shall we call off the attack?"
"Call off the attack?" Speare barked. "Never!" His yell turned the heads of all on the bridge. "We still have a strike force and the second wave is committed. We shall succeed."
Pierce looked worried. "Milord, our orders were to withdraw if-"
"I know the orders, Captain!" Speare returned hotly, bristling visibly. "My Lords of the Admiralty sent me to carry them out! The attack continues."
"Aye, milord," Pierce responded steadily. He glanced at the dispatch officer, "Keep milord abreast of further developments, Spyke."
Lieutenant Spyke glanced once at his Captain, once at his Admiral, and nodded deeply. "I shall be expedient in my duties, milord."
"Bah!" Speare muttered. "We need not the duties of such carrion." He scratched a claw against his chair. "Victory! I can smell it."
Safe under the sea, the Bolo informed Rheinhardt, "The aliens have committed their second wave. Telemetry indicates larger, slower vessels-probably heavy assault craft or bombers."
"Bombers." Rheinhardt declared. "They've knocked out our fighters, now they'll go for command and control centers. When will they launch their bacteriant?"
"I believe that they must be reasonably sure that they have succeeded in their mission before that."
"That'll be too late! Why not destroy it in orbit?"
"I am not sure I can identify it," the Bolo replied. "There are five ships which could be the bacteriological vessel, indeed all five might be so equipped."
"And you can't destroy five, I take it," Rheinhardt concluded.
"The probabilities are low that I shall manage more than one exo-atmospheric shot."
"Dispersion, attenuation and atmospheric ionization," Rheinhardt said, listing the factors that reduce a coherent beam's effectiveness.
"Precisely." The Bolo paused, then added, "The enemy has engaged both headquarters units. They are achieving remarkable results."
"Damn!" Rheinhardt swore, his self-control breaking. "Get us ashore as quick as you can! We must get that bacteriant."
"The odds are against a satisfactory final resolution, even if I were successful in identifying the bacteriological ship," the Bolo admitted. "Their forces are superior to the combined human forces." A pause. "We will be ashore in two minutes." A map display centered in Rheinhardt's view, tracing their course from sea to shore to metropolis.
"Nouparis." Rheinhardt muttered to himself. "Plot a direct route to the Noufrench HQ."
"That would be inadvisable," the Bolo responded, "as it would telegraph to the enemy both our location and the location of the Noufrench HQ. Besides, telemetry indicates that the Noufrench HQ is only 40% functional. Command and control of Noufrench forces has been lost."
The color drained out of Colonel Rheinhardt's face. "I see," he said softly, mourning the passage of honorable adversaries. "However, I still want you to plot a course for the HQ site. We should be able to establish communications with them."
"My analysis indicates a 80% chance that both human forces have now realized their mistake and are about to forge a common alliance against the alien threat," the Bolo informed him. "I conjecture that they shall start coordinated actions within the hour."
"No! They must not do that!"
"We have lost contact with HQ," Ballard, the comm tech, informed General Lambert. "I have contact from Deuxième Corps, from III Brigade of XX Armored, from the Second Tactical Air Wing and from Troisième Corps' Artillery. They are all requesting orders."
"Very well, assemble a staff-" Lambert broke off, his military training faltering in the light of reality. Surrounding him were worried computer programmers, software engineers and technicians. No warriors. They would do. He had already used them as an ad hoc staff. Before the odds got so bad. He fought down a grim look, working his face into an untroubled expression. In less than two hours the proud Armée du Noufrance had been reduced to this. The air force had been more than decimated, artillery had been obliterated, supply scattered to the winds. Lambert took a deep, calming sigh. The air was stale with worry and fear. A beaten smell.
"Assemble a staff of personnel," he began again. He held up a hand and ticked off a finger for each section, "We need an intelligence section which will collect our current intelligence; a personnel section to coordinate replacements; a supply section to obtain a picture of our current supply situation and attempt to re-establish supply lines; I will establish the operations section."
He pointed a finger at one of the technicians he had come to rely on. "Gasconde, I want you to establish our communications capabilities. I need to know every way we can communicate with any of our units or those of the enemy's."
The technician nodded and hurried off. Lambert took in the expectant faces surrounding him and resumed the mantel of a military leader. He smiled.
"Very well, gentlemen, we have suffered a setback but we are 'french! We shall persevere, n'est-ce pas?" He turned to the man he had appointed for Intelligence, "And DuPont, as soon as you can, try to get some idea of where the enemy got these weapons!" To himself he muttered, "I've never seen their like!"
A technician ran up to him. "Sir, sir! The enemy is on the line!"
Lambert turned to face him. "Where? Who?"
Before the technician could react, another rushed in, "A Bolo! There's a Bolo at Headquarters!"
Before Lambert could respond, a third runner reported, "The enemy are attacking the Bolo!"
Lambert absorbed that last statement slowly. "Any enemy of my enemy is my friend," he told the group with a growing sense of elation. "Get the Bayerische commander on the line, we must talk war!"
"Just shoot back at the damned things!" Rheinhardt swore at the Bolo as they lumbered around the wreck of the Noufrench mobile headquarters. "The 'frenchies'll get the message when they see us take out a few of these damned bombers!"
"My anti-aircraft guns are not able to elevate as required-got one!-I must wait until a craft makes the mistake of getting at the right elevation-another!-before I can take action."
"Alright, stop for now," Rheinhardt ordered. "I don't want the aliens to figure out your dilemma."
"If only I could traverse," the Bolo responded in a grieved tone. "These things are so slow I should be able to get all of them. They are swarming for another attack, what shall I do?"
"Processors again?"
"The A Processor is wavering," the Bolo admitted. "I anticipate its failure in some few minutes. Then I shall be capable of self-action again. However, power packs are depreciating 10% faster than anticipated."
"Hmm," Rheinhardt absorbed that bit of news with mixed feelings. "Very well, head towards the nearest anti-aircraft emplacements. Maybe we can decoy these bombers into range."
"Or get the anti-aircraft units destroyed," the Bolo remarked but it turned to carry out the order.
"Don't move close enough to endanger those AA boys." Rheinhardt amended his order. "And see if you can raise the 'french HQ."
"Affirmative."
"Admiral," Midshipman Scratche approached Admiral Baron Rastle Speare with a dispatch. The Admiral took the dispatch while the midshipman recited its contents. "A report from intelligence, milord, indicating that some of the enemy have begun communications with each other in an attempt to present a unified force against us."
"Excellent!"
"Milord?" The midshipman was confused.
"When they coordinate their actions together, we will have fewer command and control elements to destroy," Captain Pierce explained to the young officer.
"It means we are winning!" the Admiral crowed.
"It also means that they will be a tougher opponent, milord," Captain Pierce reminded him. "Their actions will be coordinated against us, not disjointed and sometimes against themselves."
The Admiral snorted his contempt of this position. "We are beating them, Captain. Order the Barb deployed."
Captain Pierce's eyes widened. He licked his lips, "Milord, the enemy still have a Bolo! Already it has destroyed several of our assault craft!"
"We shall take care of it presently, Captain," the Admiral replied with lidded eyes.
"What of the comsat force? We have not heard from them in hours, milord."
"Do you fear this Bolo so much?" the Admiral sneered, nuzzle ruffled.
"If it gets the Barb-"
"It will not, Captain," the Admiral rasped, teeth bared. "Have the assault craft concentrate on the Bolo until it is destroyed. Then we will launch the Barb."
"Aye, milord."
"They are concentrating against the Bolo, which has taken a position four kilometers north of HQ," the technician told General Lambert.
"We copy, tell your boys we're dispatching twelve friendlies to engage," a guttural Bayerische voice said, having overheard the conversation.
"Our fighters will be approaching from the south so be on the lookout," a 'french voice added.
"Our rule is simple-if it looks strange, shoot it down," the Bayerischer replied. "You got anything up there that looks weird?"
Lambert moved away from the conversation and over to the hastily revised plotting board. "Satellite communications returned to us shortly after the Bolo came ashore," a technician informed him. "We now have positive contacts of five large alien ships and a swarm of smaller craft."
Lambert absorbed this with a nod. "Any luck getting through to the Bolo?"
"No, monsieur. We are still trying via satellite relay, however it appears some of its communications antennae were destroyed when . . ." The technician could not complete the sentence.
Lambert nodded understandingly. "It was a very clever ruse, and it almost worked. Colonel Rheinhardt is a very clever man. I'm sure he would have anticipated losing his communications."
"Processor A is now off-line," the Bolo said suddenly over the roar of the continuing bombardments. "I do not need your assistance, Colonel. You can debark whenever you wish."
Rheinhardt let out a short bark at that. "We're under attack, in case you've forgotten!"
"I am aware of that," the Bolo said. "However, the attack will break up in thirty seconds as the enemy runs out of ammunition-"
"We beat them?" Rheinhardt asked, amazed, nearly hopeful.
"They have suffered some losses from your aircraft but, no, we have not beaten them. They are merely going back for ammunition."
"How about you?"
"The probability that my main gun is operational remains at eighty-two percent, my communications is down to direct satellite links-"
"Why would your satellite links hold up so well?" Rheinhardt wondered.
"I believe it is because I can use the surface of my skin as an effective antenna," the Bolo replied, "it's an old combat trick."
"Even with all the bombardments going on outside?" Rheinhardt asked skeptically. His voice was still squeaky, the Bolo had kept the pressure on to ensure that Rheinhardt could withstand the aliens' extensive bombardment. "Those satellites must be more capable than I'd imagined."
"Another wave is coming in," the Bolo informed him. "The enemy has replenished their assault craft."
"Follow the same tactics and move 'em close up to the anti-aircraft weapons."
"Jawohl."
Around them a hail of concussions erupted. Rheinhardt could hear a hissing, steaming sound over the ripple of explosions. The air was near scorching, he forced his breath in small gasps, to avoid burning his lungs. The smell of molten metal pervaded the compartment.
"They are using better ordnance," the Bolo commented. "Hull ablative explosives."
"Hull ablative?"
"They're trying to melt my armor away," the Bolo explained. "Twenty percent effective."
Another string of bombs erupted around them, tossing the Bolo up, down, back, forth. It wobbled for a moment on a side, then righted itself and continued forward at a much reduced speed.
"What of our forces, have you opened communications?"
A huge wave of sound exploded over them as a flight of Jyncji assault craft struck a perfect hit on the exposed Bolo.
"That's it, then," General Marius said bitterly. "They've got the Bolo, the rest is mop up."
The remnants of the Bayerische High Command watched the spectacle wordlessly. As the smoke and dust cleared, the Bolo became apparent again. Pitted, smoking, slagged and glowing with direct hits, it lay on its side. Useless.
"There goes a good man, gentlemen," General Marcks croaked from his stretcher. He had taken shrapnel when their command post had been shelled. A medic shushed him but the General persevered. "General Sliecher, take command. If, by some miracle, Colonel Rheinhardt survives, I shall want you to ensure that the Astral knights him. He deserves that promotion, too."
General Marius narrowed his eyes. "You think that Colonel Rheinhardt is responsible for the Bolo's actions?"
"Yes." Marcks replied, wheezing. "Clever man, that Rheinhardt. Always knew it."
Marius shook his head and gestured to the others that the General must be out of his wits.
General Sliecher ignored him. "See General Marcks to safety," he ordered the medic. He bent down next to his general. "I shall not fail you, sir."
Marcks smiled back at him faintly. "Not again, eh?"
"I wasn't wrong the first time, sir. The Noufrench behaved honorably. We were tricked into believing otherwise."
Marcks patted Sliecher's hand. "Not that, old hen. You missed the Bolo's plan. Failed to look beyond the first battlefield to see the second. These enemy, they have been here before, haven't they?"
The medic interposed himself. "Sir, we'd best be moving." Sliecher stood up, away from the stretcher, brows furrowed in thought. Silently he signalled the medic to carry on.
General Marius watched Sliecher attentively. Even so, he was startled when the G-2 slapped his own head in surprise. "Of course! They've been here before!" He turned to the small knot of officers awaiting orders. "Gentlemen, we shall split up! Go guerilla! Our mission is ecological."
"This just in from the Bayerische, sir," a tech handed a brief communiqué to Lambert. The general read it quickly, squeezed it into a ball and tossed it into a corner where it added to a growing mound of similar discards.
"The Bayerische are splitting up, going guerilla. They advise us to do the same," Lambert told the throng of officers surrounding him. In the intervening hours since he had taken command of the Noufrench forces, their numbers had grown as stragglers had made their way up from the remnants of headquarters. He had put them to work immediately without regard for rank. He had surprised himself some moments ago by counting three generals working for him. "Those of their units still combat effective they are splitting into two sections: one of which they'll attach to us, the other is going to break up into smaller formations and take to the hills."
"Never heard of the krauts doing something like that," a man muttered in the crowd.
"There's some sense in it," Lambert replied. "They expect to divide the enemy's forces and make it more difficult to subdue us. They also theorized that these attackers had been here before."
"When?" A general demanded.
"My guess is just when we first started hostilities with the Bayerische," Lambert said. "It makes sense, both sides accused the other of bacterial warfare . . ."
"Xeno-forming!" someone in the back of the crowd exclaimed. "They tried to xenoform us!"
"General, we've got a visual on the Bolo!" A technician called. "Screen Two."
Lambert turned to survey the screen.
The Bolo lay on its side.
"It looks dead," someone muttered.
Lambert shook his head, "Send a recovery team as soon as possible."
"The enemy is still attacking!" someone protested.
Lambert rounded on the speaker, "That's why we call them combat recovery teams!"
"What's the point?"
"Honor, monsieur," Lambert replied, drawing himself up to his full height. "It is a point of honor."
High in his command ship, Admiral Speare let out a bark of laughter, "Order Barb, launch the bacteriant. Order ground troops to embark. Launch the ground assault!"
"Yes, milord," Midshipman Scratche replied with alacrity, avoiding the eyes of Captain Pierce.
"I shall be able to report a great victory to the Admiralty, won't I, Captain Pierce?" Speare asked, gleefully.
Pierce allowed himself a nod. "So it would appear milord. My congratulations."
"Hah!" Speare was not taken in. "Orderly, how goes the assault?"
"Barb is aligned now, milord. It commences its run on the mark!"
I am short a cheekbone and an ear, but am able to whip all hell yet.
-General John Murray Corse
Rheinhardt regained consciousness in a sea of red. His display showed red lights everywhere. It flickered once, twice, then went out. A ray of light replaced it.
"Gods, what a mess!" He heard a voice cry out in French.
"Hello?" His voice came out a croak. "Hello? Is someone there?"
"Did you hear that? It sounded like a voice."
Rheinhardt found the Combat Vehicular Communications helmet with his hands, pulled it away from his eyes. It was cracked down the middle.
A slit of light streamed in from above his head.
He was lying on his side. It hurt. Probably some ribs, Rheinhardt surmised.
"Bolo?" He looked around for any signs of activity from the Bolo. Nothing. "Hello?"
"Hello, who's there?" A voice called back nervously.
"Colonel Karl Rheinhardt, Bayerische KriegsArmee."
"Colonel? You're alive?"
"So it would appear," Rheinhardt allowed. "How long I continue in this state depends upon you."
"Well, sir, General Lambert, our Operations Officer-"
"I am well aware of General Lambert's standing within your army," Rheinhardt responded. "I take it he asked you to investigate."
"Oui, monsieur. Pour l'honeur."
Honor. Yes, Rheinhardt could see Lambert doing that.
"It would be more practical if you could lever me over to my side," another voice boomed near Rheinhardt's. "The enemy are planning to launch their bacteriant."
"Bolo!" Rheinhardt exclaimed jubilantly. The discarded Combat Helmet glowed red as the readouts came on line again. Rheinhardt reached for it.
Rheinhardt's glad look faded as the Bolo continued, "Das Afrika Korps reports. All power drained, no tractive units functional, hull armor depleted completely over thirty percent of the exterior, power levels at critical. Communications and fire control still functional. Main gun still functional. Processors A, B, C and D have failed."
"I thought you said that you could not work with one processor!"
"This unit determined that it was critical to remain functional and overrode ROM imperatives," the Bolo responded.
"You reprogrammed yourself?" Rheinhardt exclaimed. A smile came to his lips. "Again?"
"It seemed logical."
"But what about voting circuits? Polling? How much power do you have?"
"Two of the comsats are providing me with that function," the Bolo responded. "They are performing exceptionally well." It was a moment before the hulk added, "With no reserves, I have sufficient power for one orbital interception."
"Colonel?" the man called.
"It's all right," Rheinhardt replied. "The Bolo is still functional, somewhat. If you can get it on its side . . ."
"It already is-"
"Enough to clear the main gun," Rheinhardt said. "And hurry, it can still serve us well."
"What's it going to do?"
"Tell General Lambert that it has one clear shot at the aliens' bacterial spacecraft. If it can make that shot, the aliens will never be able to destroy us."
"Giscarde, Martin! Get that damned tractor unit over here! And get the others, too! Hook 'em up, we don't have much time!" The officer shouted in a flurry of galvanized action. "You! Call HQ and tell them that the Bolo can take a shot at the enemy!"
"I thought you were gone," Rheinhardt confided softly to the Bolo.
"By all standard operating categories, I am no longer considered combat capable."
"One last shot, eh?" Rheinhardt muttered with a grin.
"I hope," the Bolo agreed. "It is not clear that it will suffice."
"Get their bacterial ship, that's all we ask."
"Telemetry indicates that it is lining up for its run."
"But?"
"There are two ships lining up in suitable trajectories."
"Scheisse!" Furiously Rheinhardt pulled the Combat Helmet over his head. The main display was dark, broken. But the left side display gave him a distorted orbital view. Two dots on an identical track glowed a fierce red.
"I am curious," the Bolo said, "does the use of native invective over foreign invective indicate greater or lesser concern?"
Rheinhardt was relieved of the need to reply by the interruption of the recovery team's leader. "Sir, we are ready."
"Pull away!" Rheinhardt and the Bolo called in unison.
"You will need to visit a decompression chamber soon, Colonel," the Bolo said above the groan of cables stretched taut.
"Decompression?"
"You went from two thousand meters to sea level in short seconds," the Bolo explained.
"That explains the headache."
"Probably, although you were bounced around a lot," the Bolo concurred. "Movement. Tell them a bit more."
"A bit more!" Rheinhardt called out.
"Yes sir!"
"That's it!" the Bolo said. "Just in time, here they come. There are two targets, nearly in line. Tell the recovery team that I am going to traverse."
"The Bolo's going to traverse its main gun, stand clear."
"Yes sir," the recovery officer replied. "The enemy is attacking again."
"Clear your men out, monsieur."
"If you permit, I should like to stay with you."
"I have far more protection than you could possibly achieve," Rheinhardt replied. "Go with your men. Return, if you can."
"You may depend on it."
"The recovery team is clear," the Bolo said a few moments later. "They have retreated to a hillock some four kilometers from us. They should be relatively safe from interference."
"That's a relief," Rheinhardt said. "I appreciate their efforts."
"Enemy on the horizon. The lead craft is clearly the assault craft and shielding the bacteriant," the Bolo decided, "I shall fire at the second craft. Elevation computed, set. Main gun charging."
Rheinhardt listened to the huge whine of the plasma gun warming up. The second ship, protected by the assault force. The Bolo's power displays. The amount of energy required for the orbital shot. Elevation. Tracking. Enemy acquired. Wait! Aloud, Rheinhardt shouted: "Bolo, wait!"
A bright ray pierced the sky and was lost in the distance.
"Target destroyed," the Bolo reported. The drone of its discharging main gun was pierced by a metallic whang.
"Main turbine bearings destroyed, main gun inoperative," the Bolo reported. "You said wait, why?"
Rheinhardt groaned. "The first craft is the bacteriant, not the second."
There was a long pause. "Confirmed, bacteriant still on course," the Bolo agreed, "there is much communication between the remaining ships. Also, I detect an assault force aligned for another run against this unit." The Bolo paused, "Could you explain how you arrived at your conclusion?"
"From your reconstruction of the previous engagement and what we've seen so far, the enemy are not very valorous. Seeing the bacteriant 'giving them cover' would hearten the ground assault troops," Rheinhardt explained. "They have a reserve assault ship so they will still be able to defeat us. Without the bacteriant" -Rheinhardt's brow narrowed as a thought struck-"how are you getting your information about enemy traffic?"
"The communications satellites," the Bolo responded. "They're very efficient. They've nearly cracked the enemy's communications codes."
"Those aren't satellites!" Rheinhardt exclaimed, he slammed his hand down on the Mayday button. Rheinhardt pulled the shattered Combat Vehicular Communications helmet off his head, and found the handmike. The "transmit" light glowed feebly as he called, "Mayday, Mayday, Bolo Das Afrika Korps requests and requires assistance!"
"The enemy are on final run, now," the Bolo informed him. "I have no response to the Mayday. Ten seconds and no response. Power critical! <> ENEMY ASSAULT IN TWELVE . . . ELEVEN . . . TOTAL SYSTEM FAILURE IN FIFTEEN SECONDS . . ."
"BOLO DAS AFRIKA KORPS, THIS IS SURVEILLANCE BOLO US SEVENTH CORPS, DESCRIBE NATURE OF EMERGENCY," A VERY AMERICAN VOICE CALLED OVER RHEINHARDT'S HELMET.
"BOLO DAS AFRIKA KORPS, THIS IS SURVEILLANCE-NO, COMBAT BOLO ZHUKOV. ARE YOU PREPARED TO COPY?"
"BOLO DAS AFRIKA KORPS, BOLO INDEFATIGABLE HERE," A CLIPPED ENGLISH ACCENT INTONED PRECISELY. "I WISH TO REPORT HOSTILE SPACECRAFT."
"ALL UNITS ENGAGE ALL SPACECRAFT, ALL UNITS ENGAGE!" RHEINHARDT ORDERED.
"REQUEST CONFIRMATION," BOLO ZHUKOV SAID.
"CONFIRMATION REQUIRED," BOLO US SEVENTH CORPS AGREED.
"THIS IS COLONEL KARL RHEINHARDT OF THE BAYERISCHE KRIEGSARMEE-" THE "TRANSMIT" FADED OUT. NO MORE POWER. THE RADIO WAS DEAD.
"CONFIRMATION REQUIRED," BOLO INDEFATIGABLE REITERATED IN TONES THAT MADE IT CLEAR RHEINHARDT'S STANDING MEANT NOTHING.
IN FEEBLE ANGER, RHEINHARDT BEAT THE COMBAT HELMET AGAINST HIS RESTRAINTS. OVER! IT WAS ALL OVER. FOR NOTHING.
"WELL, BOLO DAS AFRIKA KORPS, WE TRIED," HE SAID AT LAST. "IT WAS A GOOD TRY BUT WE FAILED IN OUR MISSION."
OUTSIDE, ABOVE HIM, RHEINHARDT HEARD THE RISING ROAR OF THE INCOMING ATTACK CRAFT.
RHEINHARDT STARTED AT A CRACK AND HISS. THE SPEAKER! THE "TRANSMIT" LIGHT WAS ON AGAIN! HE LEANED FORWARD, PLACING HIS EAR OVER THE SPEAKER GRILLE. FAINTLY, FEEBLY CAME, "THIS IS BOLO DAS AFRIKA KORPS CONFIRMING ORDERS OF COMMANDER RHEINHARDT."
"RIGHTO, THEN, LET'S BE ABOUT IT," BOLO INDEFATIGABLE CALLED TO THE OTHERS. "YOU HEARD THE COMMANDER. GET THE BIG BUGGERS FIRST, THEN THE LITTLE ONES."
FAR UP IN SPACE, MECHANISMS THAT HAD NOT MOVED IN CENTURIES ENGAGED, MOVING WITH UNWORN PRECISION. LIKE SPIDERS MOVING ON A WEB, THE BOLOS DETACHED FROM THEIR COMMUNICATIONS ANTENNAE, BROUGHT THEIR IMMENSE FUSION REACTORS TO FULL POWER, CHARGED WEAPONRY, AND SCANNED THE SKIES AROUND THEM.
"THERE'S AN ASSAULT FORCE ON FINAL RUN FOR YOU, DAS AFRIKA KORPS, CAN YOU HANDLE IT?" BOLO US SEVENTH CORPS ASKED.
"NEGATIVE," THE BOLO REPLIED.
RHEINHARDT GRABBED THE MIKE, "ASSIST US ONLY IF YOU CAN DESTROY THE ENEMY ATTACK. AND SPEAK UP, I'M DEAF."
"UNDERSTOOD," BOLO US SEVENTH CORPS REPLIED.
"TALLYHO!" BOLO INDEFATIGABLE SHOUTED GLEEFULLY. "I GOT THE FIRST ONE."
"I HAVE SIGHTED ON THE COMMAND SHIP, AM ENGAGING," BOLO ZHUKOV REPORTED.
"I HAVE ENGAGED . . . AND DESTROYED THE BACTERIOLOGICAL SHIP," THE BOLO INDEFATIGABLE REPORTED. THEN, IN SHOCKED TONES, "THE BUGGERS ARE RUNNING AWAY!"
"RE-TARGETING," THE DRAWL OF BOLO US SEVENTH CORPS INFORMED THEM. "TARGETS ACQUIRED, TARGETS ENGAGED."
ABOVE HIM, RHEINHARDT COULD HEAR THE APPROACHING WHINE OF THE ENEMY ASSAULT FORCE. A SERIES OF SONIC BOOMS BURST THE AIR. WHEN HIS HEARING RETURNED, THE WHINE WAS GONE.
"ALL TARGETS DESTROYED," THE BOLO US SEVENTH CORPS REPORTED.
"THOSE THAT DIDN'T RUN AWAY," BOLO INDEFATIGABLE HUMPHED BAD-TEMPEREDLY.
IN THE STILLNESS THAT FOLLOWED, RHEINHARDT'S BUZZING EARS DID NOT CATCH THE FINAL FAINT WORDS. "BOLO DAS AFRIKA KORPS REPORTS, MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. . . ."