She felt the shock and dismay rippling through her operations staff, and she didn’t blame them. But she also knew she had at least three quarters of her brigade’s fighting power down on its primary objective and, presumably, intact. Whatever ground-to-air system had nailed Fafnir One wouldn’t be much use against a ground assault, and she snarled at her shaken officers.
“How the fuck do I know what happened to her?! But whatever it was, it must’ve come from the Fleet Base, and we’ll clear its horizon in fifteen minutes! Get on those command circuits and keep our people moving! Primary objective is now the complete-I repeat, complete-neutralization of that base!”
I continue my efforts to penetrate the Enemy’s communications without success, yet analysis of their patterns convinces me that they are not the Total Systems Data-Sharing net of the Dinochrome Brigade. While they include what can only be interlinked tactical telemetry, they also include what are clearly voice transmissions. This indicates that my opponents are not, in fact, Bolos, and I compute a probability of 56.113 percent that they are actually Golem-IIIs or Golem-IVs. Possession of such vehicles by any Enemy, while still extremely improbable, is more likely than the possibility that the Enemy might somehow have acquired full-capability units of the Line. While the odds against my survival against properly coordinated Golems remain unfavorable, the probability of my destruction against Golem-IIIs drops from 87.46 percent to no more than 56.371 percent, although it remains on the close order of 78.25 percent against Golem-IVs. The probability that I can successfully destroy or at least incapacitate the enemy, on the other hand, has risen to 82.11 percent, regardless of the mark of Golem I may face.
My Battle Center cautions me to assume nothing, yet the intuitive function Major Stavrakas incorporated into my Personality Center argues otherwise. If I assume that these are, indeed, Golems and plan my tactics accordingly, my chance of victory-and survival-will be considerably enhanced. If I act on that assumption and it proves incorrect, my destruction will be assured. I consider for 0.90112 seconds and reach conclusion. I will assume my opponents are Golems.
Two huge war machines, each crewed by three very anxious humans, forged through the jungle like impatient Titans, bulldozing their way through hundred-meter trees while their commanders shouted at one another.
“It had to be the frigging Bolo!” Golem-Two’s commander bellowed finally, stunning his counterpart in Golem-One into silence with sheer volume. “And if it was, it’s coming after our asses next! So shut the hell up and listen to me, goddamn it!”
“If there’s a live Bolo out there, then let’s get the fuck out of here!”
“No, damn it! If we run, the damned thing’ll come right up our asses, and we’ve already lost both Fafnirs. If it gets to the field, there’s no way in hell Granger or Matucek will risk trying to pick us up-it’d swat ‘em like flies, if they did. If we want off this planet, we’ve gotta kill the fucking thing, and it’s only a Mark XXIII!”
“Only!” the other commander spat.
“Shut up and activate Gamma-One!”
There was a long, frightened moment of silence, and then Golem-One rasped, “Activating.”
Analysis of enemy com patterns indicates that voice transmissions have ceased. I must assume the Enemy has concerted his plans, which suggests a strong probability (72.631 percent) that he intends to engage using a pre-packaged computer battle plan similar to those employed by Mark XV-Mark XIX Bolos.
I switch to hyper-heuristic mode. Since my Commander has never reported my actual capabilities, the Enemy will assume he is opposed by a standard Mark XXIII. Therein may lie my best opportunity for victory, for the basic Mark XXIII had a predilection for direct attacks. In this instance, however, I face two opponents. Each is armed with a marginally more powerful Hellbore than my own, but I possess two turrets. Unfortunately, to employ both of them will require me to turn broadside to my opponents, exposing my thinner flank armor to their fire. I must therefore entice them into committing to the attack. This would be difficult against full-capability Bolos, but a Golem will be able to respond only within the parameters of its pre-loaded tactical programs. It may, therefore, be possible to manipulate them into approaching in a manner of my choosing.
Ports pop open on my hull as I launch ground sensor remotes. Their motion detectors pick up the ground shocks of Bolo-range vehicles moving at high speed. Triangulation produces locations on two distinct motion sources, and I compute their general headings and consult my terrain maps yet again.
Their courses indicate they have not yet localized my own position, but they are operating in close company. I cannot ambush and engage one without being engaged by the other. On our present courses, I will encounter them from the flank in relatively flat terrain, but if they alter course towards me, I will encounter them in terrain much more favorable to my plans. I must therefore reveal my position and entice them into closing.
I compute a fire plan and enable my VLS cells.
* * *
The armored hatches of Nike’s missile deck sprang open, and a cloud of missiles arced upward. In twelve seconds, each of her forty vertical launch system cells sent four heavy missiles shrieking downrange; then the hatches snapped shut once more, and the charging Bolo shifted course. She directed full power to her drive train, smashing through the jungle at a reckless speed of over a hundred kilometers per hour. Not even her massive weight could hold her steady, and she rocked and bucked like a drunken galleon while splintered jungle spat from her spinning treads.
Ten seconds after launch, the first missiles roared down on the two Golems. The launch range was too short for effective counter-missiles, but computer-commanded, direct fire anti-missile defenses swiveled and spat. There was too little engagement time to stop them all, but the Golem’s computers concentrated on the ones which might have landed close enough to be a threat.
Half the incoming missiles vanished in midair fireballs; the others impacted, and a hurricane of flame and fury lashed the jungle. The Golems’ crewmen cringed at the carnage erupting beyond their vehicles’ armored hulls, yet their computers had stopped the truly dangerous ones. More, their radar had back-plotted the fire to its point of origin. The mercenaries knew where it had come from now, and the Golems changed course towards it, exactly as their pre-packaged battle plan required.
The depot computers have now reconfigured the planetary surveillance system. I download data directly from it and quickly localize both Enemy vehicles. Optical examination confirms that they are Mark XXIV hulls, and both are now headed directly towards my launch point. I brake to a halt. The outcrop I have chosen for cover cuts off all radar, but I continue to track via the reconnaissance satellites. I am now certain my opponents are not Bolos, for they have closed up on one another to advance side by side down the valley which breaks the ridge line. My track shields drop into place, and I divert power to strengthen my starboard battle screen while I compute ranges carefully. I wait, then throw full power to my drive train.
* * *
Rooster tails of pulped tree and soil flew from Nike’s treads as she exploded from cover. Her course took her directly across the oncoming Golems’ path at a suicidally short range of less than a thousand meters.
The humans crewing those Golems had no time to react, and if their computers were just as fast as Nike’s, they lacked the cybernetic initiative of a self-aware Bolo. Golem-Two’s computers had deflected its Hellbore to cover the eastern side of the valley as they advanced while Golem-One’s took responsibility for the west.