“Oh, joy,” said Mike, angrily. “So we dream up this stuff, then send all the forces off planet and lose Earth behind them? What are we, a modern Australia?” he asked, referring to the role that country had played in WWII. With the vast majority of its forces battling the Germans in North Africa, Australia was nearly invaded by the Japanese. Only American intervention and a stroke of luck in the Coral Sea prevented the inevitable loss of the continent to the Japanese.
“Like I said,” said Horner, patiently, “a fair proportion of it will be slated to home defense. But the point is, the equipment and R and D costs will be picked up by the Galactics. Also, we won’t just be dreaming it up. We really need to have all our ducks in a row, because what is dreamed up at this conference is, more or less, what we’re going to take into combat. We will not only dreamland the weapons systems, we’ll also be the full authorizers; these weapons will not go through the usual procurement ritual.”
“What? Why?” asked Mike, surprised. Development and procurement was normally a long-term process involving a cast of millions. While it was more than himself and the general on the team, a group like this would usually just start the design process rolling.
“Think about it Mike,” the general snapped. “We’ve only got five years, less if you think about fielding forces for planets already under assault and the attacks that will probably occur before the main landing. We have to get these systems designed, simmed, tested out, the manuals written and fielded in time for units to do a total conversion before the landings.” Horner smiled ferally. “And that also means that every swinging dick of a military contractor with a four billion dollar piece of crap does not get to bid. Our team and some Indowy and Tchpth are going to be designing it from the ground up.”
“Yeah!” said Mike with a smile. “But where are we going to get the bodies?” he continued. “Even if we do a general call-up and recall everybody like me, who’s still young enough they can be half-ass effective, we’re not going to have enough bodies. Not for the Fleet and the ground forces.”
“First of all,” said Horner with a glittering smile, “our job is to concentrate on the systems and let personnel worry about the bodies. But, to give you a little peace of mind, there’s no problem with bodies. When I said every swinging dick who ever wore a uniform, I was serious.
“The Galactics have been generally reluctant to discuss medical technology because of some of their bioethics laws, but they are supplying a rejuvenation and life prolongation technology. We’re going to recall people who haven’t worn a uniform since Vietnam if necessary. Maybe even earlier.”
Mike thought about that for a moment, opened his mouth, then closed it and thought some more. He furrowed his brow and shook his head. “Has anyone really thought that through?”
“Yes,” said Horner, with another tight smile.
“I mean,” Mike paused trying to process the enormous thought. “Hell, turn over any rock and you find a vet. Vets might only make up ten or twenty percent of the population but they are everywhere…”
“And quite often it seems that the guy who is the glue holding something together is a vet.”
“Yeah,” Mike breathed in agreement. “This is going to body slam everything. Manufacturing, transportation, food production, legal… well, maybe not legal services or marketing.”
Horner smiled at the slight joke. “It will. On the other hand, we’re not actually going to call back everyone. The current plan is to use a matrix of current age, ending rank and a score based upon the ‘quality’ of their service.”
“ ‘Quality’?” chimed Mike. He could just see a group of civilian bureaucrats deciding who was to be recalled and who was not on the basis of evaluation reports. Since ERs often reflected how well leaders parroted their commander, they were sometimes not the best method to use in judging combat officers and NCOs.
“ ‘Quality.’ Maybe I should say ‘Combat Quality.’ By weird luck I was in that meeting.” Horner frowned hard. “And I managed to point out that what we are going to need are combat qualified officers and NCOs. Real veterans in other words. So each medal for valor acts as a multiplier, as does a CIB or time spent in a combat zone…”
“Oh, shit,” Mike whispered again and gave a little laugh.
“… so no ‘rear-echelon-chair-warmers’ need apply,” finished Horner with a rare chuckle of his own.
“Damn,” said Mike, surprised once again. “Okay, so there’s no problem with bodies that have military training and experience.”
Mike rubbed the developing stubble on his chin and studied the section on Galactic technologies. “The Federation has a high degree of control on gravity and all the other inertial affiliated phenomena, which includes energy systems.” He turned a page and wrinkled his brow in thought. “And apparently some really good materials science. No psi or other ‘magic’ stuff, good nanotech, but not combat nano that can be related to combat conditions. Yet. It’s all ‘vat’ nano or biotic. I think I can hazard a few guesses from this stuff, but how do we get actual technical questions answered? And how good is their IT?”
Horner slid a black box the size of a pack of cigarettes out of his brief case and handed it to Mike. “This is an artificial intelligence device, voice activated and very interactive. It is in contact with a network of similar devices and all the extraterrestrial databases they have available to them.” He slid his own AID out and queried it. “AID, this is General Horner.”
“Yes, sir.” The voice was an accentless, fluid tenor, totally androgynous.
“Please initiate the other AID for the use of Michael A. O’Neal. In all areas relating to GalTech information he is to have all my clearances and information overrides, on my orders. Is that clear?” asked Horner.
“Yes it is, General. Welcome to the GalTech Infantry Design Team, Sergeant O’Neal.”
“I haven’t been reactivated, yet.” O’Neal smiled. It was the first piece of Galactic technology he had encountered and it met all the criteria for good science fiction. On the other hand, the first thing it did was get a fact wrong.
“The President signed emergency reactivation papers on all members of the GalTech conference with prior service at seven twenty-three am this morning. Paperwork to discharge you for the purpose of accepting a commission and acceptance of a commission are prepared for your signature.”
The NCO’s stone-hard face tracked to the general like an armored turret.
“Not my doing, Mike.” The general shrugged. “I guess somebody figured better safe than sorry. I’ll admit to having the papers on accepting a commission prepared.”
Mike scratched his chin and looked at the ceiling, taking note of the black domes of security cameras. He had a sudden premonition of a future filled with uniforms and security cameras, his life blown on the winds of fate. He closed his eyes, head still tipped back and said a quiet, sad prayer for the end of a golden age, an end of innocence, an ending still known to few.
“Well, General, sir,” he said quietly, eyes still shut, “I suppose we ought to go earn our munificent pay.”
6
Orbit, Barwhon V
1530 GMT, June 25th, 2001 ad
As the ship dropped from trans-light, Barwhon opened up before them, a planet of purple vegetation and mists.
“We’re going in through an unsecured belt, an area that we think is still free of Posleen.” Sergeant Major Mosovich went over the mission profile one last time. The personnel of Eyeball 1, as the team was now officially designated, were gathered around a small table in the cramped Himmit ship eating breakfast and sipping their last real coffee for a while as the planet swelled in the view-screen. The atmosphere was stressed; a smell of tension hung in the air like a fog. Even though they were seasoned soldiers, they were very much aware they were going to be among the first humans ever to set foot on an alien planet, and their surroundings hammered that point home. Since they had taken their Hiberzine injections before the ship even lifted from Kwajalein Atoll there had barely been time to get over a simple feeling of alienation before the shots took them and they faded into sleep. Now, every item in view gave off a subtle aura of wrongness.