As, self-evidently, the extermination of Humanity had become the reciprocal policy of the Melconian Empire.
For Maneka, at this point, that was still an intellectual awareness; for Tchaikovsky, it wasn’t. Maneka was aware (though she really wasn’t supposed to be) that Tchaikovsky’s last post before being given the Thirty-Ninth had been as the executive officer of the 721st… which had taken sixty-six percent casualties at the Battle of Maybach.
“It’s obvious that we have a significant advantage in combat power on a ton-for-ton basis,” Tchaikovsky continued. “Their warships need a three-to-one advantage to meet us on an even footing, and the differential is even worse for their planetary heavy combat units going up against modern Bolos. The problem is that they appear to have that numerical advantage, and quite probably a good bit to spare. I take it that you are already aware of most of this?”
“Yes, sir,” she said quietly.
“Then you realize the Brigade is going to take heavy casualties in this war,” he told her flatly. “In addition, we’re expanding our strength at the highest rate in the Brigade’s history. That, of course, is why your Academy curriculum was shortened by a full semester and why your graduating class was twenty percent larger than the one before it… and twenty percent smaller than the one behind it, despite how difficult it is to find officer candidates capable of passing the Brigade’s screening process. It’s also why the Thirty-Ninth has been systematically raided for experienced commanders. We’re running at full stretch-and beyond, frankly-to keep up with combat losses and simultaneously crew the new-build Bolos. So while I would prefer to assign you to an experienced commander in the traditional mentor relationship, it simply isn’t practical. In fact, of the Thirty-Ninth’s twelve Bolo commanders, only three, including myself, have seen actual combat.
“You’ll be our youngest and most junior commander, and I’m giving you Eight-Six-Two-BNJ-’Benjy’-as your Bolo. He’s been around the block more than a few times, Lieutenant. You can learn a lot from him, just as you’d better be learning from everyone else around you. I’m sure you and your classmates at the Academy worked the math on your odds of surviving to retire. Assuming that anyone is allowed to retire in the foreseeable future, of course.”
He smiled briefly.
“If you did the math, then you know your odds aren’t especially encouraging. Recognizing that will probably contribute to a realistic perspective, but don’t fixate on it. That sort of thing can create a self-fulfilling prophecy situation. Instead, remember this, Lieutenant. Every single thing you can learn here, every trick you can pick up, every tactical insight and every speck of deviousness you can acquire, will shift the probabilities in your favor. It will also make you a more effective commander, more dangerous to the enemy in action. For right now, that’s your entire responsibility-to learn. To learn how to survive, how to meet the enemy, and how to defeat him. A Mark XXVIII Bolo like Benjy is too long in the tooth for front-line deployment in a war like this, but he’s been around for one and a quarter Standard Centuries. Over a hundred and twenty-five years, Lieutenant Trevor. He’s picked up quite a few tricks in that time. Learn them from him.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll try,” she said quietly, when he paused.
“Don’t ‘try,’ Lieutenant,” he said sternly. “Do.”
He held her eyes for another few moments, then nodded briskly.
“Very well, Lieutenant Trevor. Welcome to the Thirty-Ninth.” He stood and shook her hand briefly but firmly, then nodded his head at the door. “Sergeant Schumer will have your formal order chip assigning you to Benjy. Major Fredericks is out on maneuvers at the moment, so the sergeant will probably turn you over to Sergeant Tobias. He’s your company’s senior Bolo tech, and that makes him the best man to introduce you to Benjy, anyway. Good luck, Lieutenant.”
He straightened up, and she came back to attention and saluted. He returned it.
“Dismissed, Lieutenant.”
“Ever met a Mark XXVIII, ma’am?” Sergeant Alf Tobias asked respectfully as he and Maneka walked across the Company parade ground towards the looming mountain of weapons and alloy which awaited them.
“On active duty?” Maneka asked, glancing at him, and he nodded.
“Only once,” she admitted. “I did work with a couple of retired Mark XXVIII AIs at the Academy, though.”
“You did?” Tobias cocked his head at her. “That’s good, ma’am,” he told her. “I know the XXVIII’s not exactly first-line equipment anymore, but I always thought they had… I dunno, more personality, maybe, than the newer marks. ‘Course that may just be because they’ve been around so much longer, I suppose. Lots of time to develop personality quirks in a century or two.”
“I imagine so,” Maneka agreed, remembering the “staff” Bolo AIs retired from their war hulls and assigned to the Academy to interact with its students. One, in particular-28/B-163-HRP-had had a delightfully acerbic personality which made her cognomen of “Harpy” a perfect fit. Maneka doubted she would ever forget the afternoon Harpy had spent critiquing one Cadet Trevor’s less-than-brilliant solution to a tactical problem, and she smiled as she looked back at the sergeant.
“Personally,” she said, “I’m glad the Brigade started retiring and upgrading software instead of just burning personality centers, Sergeant.”
“You and me both, Ma’am,” Tobias agreed in turn, giving her a look which held a hint of approval. “Never did seem fair to just throw ‘em away when they got too old,” he continued. “Of course, the older models-before the XXIVs and XXVs-probably had too many inhibitory features to make upgrading their AIs into new marks practical. They weren’t really designed to be upgraded in the first place.”
“I know.” Maneka started to say something more, then changed her mind as the two of them stepped into the shadow of the looming Bolo. She half-expected Tobias to immediately introduce her to the huge combat machine, but the sergeant waited patiently for her to absorb its full impact, first.
Unit 28/G-862-BNJ was a 15,000-ton Mark XXVIII, Model G, Bolo, one of the old Triumphants. His hull measured eighty-seven meters from his much-decorated prow to his aftermost antipersonnel clusters and point defense cannon. His bogey wheels were almost six meters in diameter, his tracks were eight meters wide, and the top of his center-mounted main battery turret rose twenty-seven meters above the ground, yet he was so broad and long that he still seemed low-slung, almost sleek. His indirect fire system was divided, with his four 30-centimeter rapid-fire breech-loading mortars mounted forward of his turret, and the twenty-four cells of his vertical-launch missile system mounted behind it. The secondary weapons of his infinite repeaters bristled in a lozenge pattern around the central turret, eight 10-centimeter ion-bolt rifles in four twin turrets on either flank, with a pair of single turrets mounted on the centerline fore and aft of the main turret. The broadside turrets were echeloned to allow at least five infinite repeaters to engage on any target bearing, and while the ion-bolt armament was far less powerful than the small-bore Hellbores mounted as secondary weapons aboard current model Bolos, Maneka knew the 10-centimeter version mounted in the Mark XXVIII would penetrate better than a quarter-meter of duralloy at close ranges. And if the 110-centimeter Hellbore of BNJ’s main armament was much lighter than the current-generation 200-centimeter weapons, it could still pump out 2.75 megatons/second.