Many eyes narrowed.
“Imagine for a moment what it means if a planet-wrecker smashes into Earth,” Marten said. “Imagine what it means if everything on Earth dies. No event in human history will have ever wiped out more people. It would be an unparalleled catastrophe.
“It may be that we’re the only hope for billions of humans. Our task isn’t to defeat the guarding dreadnaught, but to slip past it in the patrol boats. We’ll land on the surface and we’ll fight our way into Carme’s engine rooms. Once there, we’ll destroy everything.”
“What about the cyborgs?” a man in back asked sharply. “Everyone knows that one cyborg is worth ten men? How are we supposed to defeat them?”
“Stand up!” Marten said.
The man hesitated. Then he shot to his feet. He was shorter than average and had larger ears that stuck outward.
“Squad-Leader Tass,” Marten said. “Do you care to expand on that?”
“How can we win?” Tass asked belligerently.
“It’s true that cyborgs normally butcher men,” Marten said slowly. “I knew that truth and still accepted the responsibility of taking out the planet-wrecker. I accepted for a critical reason. Omi and I stormed onto the Beamship Bangladesh. You’ve studied our tactics. You know we’re shock troopers and that we know more about infantry space-combat than anyone else in the Jovian System does. I also had Osadar slap each of you across the face. I closely studied your reactions, looking for the fighters among you.”
More than a few space marines scowled.
“I needed first class soldiers,” Marten said. “During our trip, I’ve tried to teach you critical skills. Space walking under hard Gs led to Pelias’s death. That death might have seemed pointless, but it wasn’t. You know more today than you did at the start of the journey. Does that mean you can defeat cyborgs?” Marten shrugged. “I doubt the shock troopers fired at the Bangladesh could take out cyborgs.”
“Then why are we doing this?” Tass shouted.
“If we don’t try,” Marten said, “the cyborgs win. If we do try, there’s always a possibility that a miracle occurs.”
“By Plato’s Bones!” swore Tass. “Miracles are myths. Everyone knows Brand’s Axiom proving that.”
“Maybe,” Marten said. He had no idea who this Brand was or his axiom. He didn’t care.
“So you’re saying that this entire attack is hopeless?” Tass asked.
Marten touched the wall-switch. The grainy shot disappeared, replaced by the Praetor’s face.
“Is that a Highborn?”
“His name is the Praetor,” Marten said. “He also happens to be our new commander.”
“What?” several squad-leaders asked at once.
“Chief Strategist Tan has bargained with him,” Marten said. “To gain the aid of his ship and his battleoids, she agreed to give him tactical command. We’re following his plan, and he’s using us ruthlessly.”
“You mean he plans to kill us?” Tass asked, outraged.
“He’s Highborn,” Marten said. “He believes we’re subhumans. Of course, he plans to kill us. He wants the prize for himself.”
“And we’re just going to lie down and die for him?” Tass asked.
“Those bastards killed my father and uncles at Mars thirteen years ago,” a squad-leader hissed.
“I’ll never fight for a Highborn,” another squad-leader yelled.
“Attention!” Marten shouted.
Reflexively, the squad-leaders shot to their feet.
“Sit down,” Marten said coldly, using his training voice.
The squad-leaders sat. A few looked confused. Some seemed abashed. Tass was still angry.
“This is war,” Marten said. He clicked the grainy Carme shot back onto the screen. “That is a planet-wrecker. We must destroy it. If that means we all die doing it, then we die.”
“Just like our fathers died in the Mars System?” Tass growled.
“First we destroy the planet-wrecker,” Marten said. “Then we stay alive, and maybe, just maybe, we kill some Highborn.”
The squad-leaders stared at him.
Marten clicked the Praetor back onto the screen. “This Highborn wanted to castrate all the shock troopers under his command in order to turn us into Neutraloids. The only thing that stopped him was the surprise attack by the Bangladesh. Perhaps you can understand then that there is no love in my heart for him.”
A few squad-leaders grinned.
“The Praetor and his battleoids are killers,” Marten said. “His cunning might help us win the fight. Then again, it might not. Remember, cyborgs are even deadlier than Highborn.”
“What chance do we have then?” a squad-leader asked.
This was the point Marten had been waiting for. He took three steps toward them as he hunched his shoulders. In detail, he told them the story of the Bangladesh. He told them how he’d escaped off the beamship with Omi and how Lycon had picked them up in the shuttle. Then he told them how he’d spaced the three Highborn and gained control of the Mayflower.
“Bluntly stated,” Marten said, “your chance is me. I’ve outsmarted Highborn before and killed them. I’ve trained you, and you know my ways. Your one chance, my one chance, is that you now learn to obey me because you want to, not just because of duty.”
Slowly, short Tass stood up.
“Yes,” Marten said.
Tass glanced at his fellow squad-leaders. “Marten Kluge is a….” Tass licked his lips. “He’s a killer, and so are the Highborn. So are the cyborgs. But Marten Kluge is our killer. He’s a man just like us. I’m going to follow him onto Carme, and I’m going to obey his orders so we can win, so we can survive.”
Another squad-leader stood up. “I agree with Tass. I didn’t like getting my face slapped. But I can see now why he ordered it.”
Marten glanced at his chronometer. “Carme is rushing near and A-hour is almost here. Good luck, and Godspeed. We’re all going to need it.”
-14-
As the Thutmosis III decelerated hard, the Battle for Carme began with a barrage from Demeter. Four Voltaire Missiles left the lifeless rock, igniting and quickly accelerating for the asteroid-moon.
The Praetor had planned the attack, using lessons learned from the Third Battle of Mars and from lessons learned by studying Hernan Cortez, the greatest conquistador of them all.
He was the Praetor, Fourth-ranked in the ultra-competitive world of the Highborn. He would risk everything to win everlasting glory. Besides, his ship lacked particle shielding. The Thutmosis III had been designed for a precise mission in the greatest battle of the war. Given time, he could have employed the ship using its stealth-sheathing. First, he’d first burned hard to catch up with Carme, and now he decelerated hard so he could land on the surface. The cyborgs had detected their approach. The Praetor knew because Canus reported sensor lock-on.
Wearing battleoid-armor, the Praetor sat in his command chair. The other Highborn on the bridge were also encased in their battleoid-suits.
“Why haven’t you told me about our lock-on?” the Praetor boomed.
“We see them with teleoptics,” Canus said. “But their ECM is still too good for us.”
“It’s better than Highborn tech?” the Praetor asked.
“Yes,” Canus admitted.
The Praetor leaned forward. Damn the cyborgs. The Thutmosis III decelerated hard enough that the ship likely appeared as a nova star on enemy screens.
“The dreadnaught is slipping behind Carme,” Canus said.