Founding of the Federation 3: The First AI War (104 page)

<>V<>

Lieutenant General Caesar looked at his legions, really two corps forming Field Army 2, and shook his head. He'd been hastily pulled from staff duty on Olympus to take over the command when the Neo officers insisted on a completely Neo chain of command. Really, Elliot should have been pulled from Earth and slotted in, but he was up to his asses in robotic alligators on Earth and couldn't be easily detached from duty.

They had pulled those they could from the veterans, and of course any injured that had been air lifted to space and had successfully recovered had been slotted in. Many like himself had been promoted and were still feeling out their new ranks and position.

They'd done something about the rank structure as well. Instead of the standard American flag officer rank, brigadier, major general, lieutenant general, and general, it had been changed. So the old saying, Be My Little General was now, Be Like My General, at least for the spacer forces.

He wondered if Elliot would be okay with it. Elliot had been a student of history, he'd probably find it a bit ironic and compare it to Patton and Bradley. Charlie shook his head; he had a few times recently when General Murtough had sprung the whole thing on him.

They'd also finally come up with a name for the troops. Over some objections, mainly from the orphaned Army veterans in space, they had become Space Marines. It was fitting in a way; they were invading and taking beachheads and then handing the terrain they captured over to other ground units to hold. They would have limited mech, barely any armor not counting the suits, but hopefully plenty of air support. They were also going to be the tip of the spear for a long time.

A hundred thousand Neos. He wasn't sure how they'd done it. A bare four months of rather intensive training, tailored for them. Techniques used to train humans and apes had been hastily modified by General Choji and Roman. He shook his head. Hopefully, it worked.

He'd grabbed everyone he could to fill the holes in the chain of command. McGillicuty had been injured in taking a residential. It had been light wounds, shrapnel, but he'd been medivaced to get him to Mars to recuperate and take on a company as a newly minted captain.

He'd yanked Claudis out of his training billet to take on Company Foxtrot of Battalion 3, also as a captain. But since they didn't have a colonel, they couldn't push the Neo rank and file up that high. There were howls enough already at how far they'd pushed kids barely eighteen months old. He'd frocked Claudis to Major and stuck him with Battalion 3 until someone on the ground could be found to take over.

He looked down to the world below. Tomorrow would begin the true test. Their true baptism of fire. He wasn't looking forward to being seared; he preferred to be medium rare.

That thought brought a brief smile to his face. He turned away from the window. He needed to sleep but couldn't. Perhaps going over the TOE and logistics numbers might lull him into a doze. He usually got sleepy when he saw the tables of numbers and droning charts and reports.

<>V<>

Newly-promoted Captain Claudis, currently acting Major and commander of Battalion 3, smiled grimly as he crossed his arms and watched the final loading of cargo on a Skywhale. In less than six hours, the first drop would begin. He knew they weren't ready. They were barely out of diapers! Hell, he wasn't certain
he
was. But they were going to do it anyway, step into the forge of combat and burn off the waste. They would come out forever changed, hardened, or broken. He intended to be one of the hardest survivors. And if he had his way, as many of the Neos under his command would survive as well. Survive and thrive.

It was good to see so many cats. They'd assigned him a lot of cats; the felines tended to respect him since he was a lionoid. One good roar was all it took to cow some of the cubs. He may not smell completely right and he was shaped slightly differently than they were, but he was an adult and he'd proven during training that he could be a right bastard. No one in their right mind liked to provoke him. Poke the lion at your own risk, he thought with a sniff.

His battalion was called the Thundercats. It had a large number of cats in it, a very high ratio over any other unit. He'd rammed the name through and it had stuck. Now he had to make it work, make the battalion an elite unit second to none.

A lot of the cats were lions. That was to be expected. Lions were social cats; they lived and fought in prides. Good. They'd broken families up, but that was fine too. They'd also inserted some of the other cat species into the mix to balance the needs of the squad. That was okay; the cats had trained together since birth.

His golden eyes roved over to Sergeant Tygra and then to Corporal Panthro. Both were good troopers, good Marines. Panthro was a natural noncom. He'd fallen in love with martial arts and had risen through the unarmed combat teams rather quickly. Tygra would most likely mustang to officer soon like his brother. He hadn't appeared to be a natural leader; he'd been quiet and reserved like Panthro for a long time. Now that he was out of his brother's shadow, he had some time to grow into his own self and start to show what he was capable of.

He'd had his choice between Tygra and Khan, and he was pretty sure he'd chosen wisely. Khan was ambitious, a schemer, and not exactly trustworthy. The tiger would just as soon as stick a knife in him as pat him on the back, of that he had no doubt. If that cat saw the opportunity for promotion, he wouldn't let anything or anyone stand in his way.

He'd been tempted to flush the bastard, but in the end he'd resisted the impulse. They needed officers, even bad ones.

And besides, maybe, just maybe, Khan would learn something along the way. Maybe he too would change, hopefully for the better.

Who knows, stranger things have been known to happen.

<>V<>

Lieutenant Khan's eyes were slitted as he looked down at the fascinating blue and green marble below. The clouds were slowly clearing, one could see the ground and water once more. On some spots you could see massive craters where cities once stood. In a few hours they would begin to land there, to fight and possibly die there.

He sometimes wondered why he'd signed up. He could have politely refused and gone off to do … what exactly? As a lieutenant, an officer he was a leader. He was a tiger, a king of cats. He would allow his youthful hunger for battle come forth, but temper it with the wisdom he knew he had within him.

He'd recently made officer and enjoyed the position immensely. He was a platoon commander of Platoon Charlie, Company Baker, 4th Battalion, 9th Brigade, Division 3, Corps 2 of what the powers that be had designated as Field Army 2. He knew he was at the larval stage of officer. He fully intended to be on top by the time the war ended, if not before.

He'd learned a lot since his birth; he intended to learn more. But for the next part, it would be practical hands on knowledge. His Wi-Fi would be disabled like everyone else's before the drop. That was unfortunate but very necessary for their safety and security.

He was going to make a name for himself and along the way earn glory, fame, respect, and credits. The first three would go a long way to allow him to earn a spot on another battlefield, that of commerce. The credits he would earn he planned to use to further his own goals of starting his own corporation later, but much later.

First he had to survive.

Chapter 42

On the morning of June 6, 2202, the first deployment of all Neo units in Africa began. Shuttles began to carry down the troops to each of the four secured spaceports on the African continent. Skywhales were reserved for equipment, supplies, and large vehicles. One-shot barges were also used.

The field army were made up of 80 percent male and 45 percent female volunteers from all of the Neos who had been recently birthed, with a smattering of older Neos in higher positions to keep them organized. Doctor Glass had been selective in specifying males for 65 percent of the population, knowing that their adolescent hormones would drive them to prefer to go into combat to earn respect of both other males as well as the limited pool of females. He had also acknowledged that a good percentage of them would never return to Mars; they would die on one battlefield or another.

Many were still young, less than eighteen months old and still growing through their awkward phase. With the growth hormones to accelerate their development, some of the species were rapidly reaching puberty. A few were already there. Hormone treatments, birth control, and other treatments were being used to help them with the mood swings.

Through the GI bill, every Neo who signed up as a soldier was guaranteed an advanced education, a job after the war, housing, full medical care including geriatric treatments, and a pension, as well as storage for sperm or ova. It was one of the major points the existing Neos had insisted on with Jack and General Murtough's full backing. They had to have something worth fighting for.

Siblings from the same litters were barred from working together; they were usually spread out in different platoons and battalions, sometimes in different units on the various worlds. Officer candidates had been selected early and groomed for such positions while Neos with or without experience had been slotted in above them to fill in the chain of command.

In time, as new recruits were shipped in to fill combat losses, they would also have field promotions pushing the officer and noncoms up the chain of command. Proven ability to lead was one criteria they all knew they had to do if they wanted a better command.

There were ongoing teething issues with discipline, however; some of the Neos resorted to primal methods of discipline. Fights had been common in the close confines of the barracks; major predators hadn't the mental flexibility to be in groups in confined spaces for long periods. It was one reason General Murtough had signed off on letting them go down despite their young age.

Most of the soldiers and officers were eager for the fight ahead, and discipline issues evaporated overnight as they were shuttled down. On the ground they were given two days to acclimate to the new conditions before they started to take on their official duties.

They found their jobs far easier than the human and apes troops had now that the EMP had taken down most of the civilian robots on the continent. But that wouldn't last forever so platoons swept north and south fast, moving ahead and frequently out of the range of their supports and militia follow-on troops. General Murtough did his best to ship in gear and personnel to hold what the Neos had taken. General Martell created a nodule network of troop units to respond to threats. For the time being, they avoided the residentials and major cities. There would be time enough to go through them once they were bottled up.

The plan was for Corps 1 to be sent southwest to the Indian Ocean and then to curl down to South Africa before they then came back up. Corps 2 was to march in a curl northeast to the Atlantic, then west once they reached the Mediterranean. They were to do a sweep of the terrain, hitting and knocking out every piece of hardware while scratch militia units moved in to finalize security in the area and finished with the mopping up. To his surprise, General Elliot was placed in charge of Corps 2.

First Army was to stand down in stages for refit and rearming. They would handle rear area security around the major sites under the Marine's control. It would be a welcome reprieve for the veterans before the next campaign, though General Martell wasn't too happy about losing the forces and being relegated to a desk job.

“Look Elliot, we've known each other for years,” Charlie said when the two chimp officers had a face-to-face. “Technically this should be your command. You've got tons more field experience than I do. I may be older and wiser, but …”

Elliot snorted. “Older, yes. Wiser?” he shook his head. “Definitely deeper in sin. And you know where the political bodies are buried. No Charlie, the better man got the job. I know my limits,” he said.

Charlie paused, cocked his head and then nodded once.

“Glad we've gotten that straightened out. I was half afraid you were going to hand me the entire kit and caboodle,” Elliot said.

“I'm tempted just to see the look on your face. Especially when you see all the 'political crap' that goes with it.”

Elliot shook his head, hands up in surrender. “No! Please!”

Charlie chuckled.

“I'm still getting enough running the corps, aren't I?”

“Yup. And you are a heartbeat away from taking over. My heartbeat,” Charlie said, tapping his chest. Best hope I live a long life.”

“To your health then,” Elliot said, lifting his glass. He waited until Charlie lifted his own then smiled. “May you never get a paper cut that puts you out of commission.”

“Very funny,” Charlie drawled as they downed the drinks.

<>V<>

For the first three days, Neo recon teams were sent behind the lines bare-ass naked. They were under strict orders not to engage as they picked up the tricks of the recon trade. Some of the officers and enlisted chafed under the restrictions. They resented not being in the thick of things from the beginning for not being allowed to be in the line of fire. That resentment lasted until Elliot ordered that the worst loud mouths get a tour of the wounded. The smell made the sensitive Neos retch outside. After that the complaints died down.