The room fell silent, every eye upon the terrifying images on the screen. None of them had ever seen anything like these monstrosities moving relentlessly forward, firing a massive array of weaponry as they did. It was like a nightmare unfolding on the giant screen, and it mesmerized everyone present.
“That is what we are facing, ladies and gentlemen.” Vance spoke loudly, his voice grim. “That is what is coming here.” He paused to let that sink in. “If we do not defeat this enemy, we will be fighting those things on Columbia, Persis, Shanghan.” He made sure to list important colonies of the major Powers. “We will be facing them on Earth.”
Vance’s last statement hit everyone like a sledgehammer. Earthbound elites and diplomats tended to think of the colonies as separate from the home world, more expendable. They were important for their resources, yes, but not the same as Earth. But Vance had plunged right into the unthinkable…the fact that nothing would stop this enemy from moving into the Sol system…from sweeping it clean of human life. Indeed, the situation at Sol was even worse from a military perspective. The Powers fortified their colonies, but the Sol system itself was demilitarized. Only the Martians had any appreciable orbital defenses. Earth would lay open and prostrate before an invader.
“We have all had our differences, our disputes.” Vance’s voice boomed out loudly, the echo bouncing off the high ceilings and reverberating throughout the room. “Yet cooperation is not impossible. Faced with imminent apocalypse, our forefathers forged the Treaty of Paris and ended almost a century of war on Earth.” They weren’t Vance’s forefathers – his family had already emigrated to Mars – but he made the point nonetheless. “We can do the same thing now…to set aside our struggles and unite to avert Armageddon.”
Vance stood silent and looked out over the assemblage. Slowly, tentatively the debate began again, and in a few minutes Vance realized he’d succeeded. There would be hours of discussion, he knew, but in the end they would agree. It was the only option. Vance would have his Grand Alliance.
The ship was almost ready to set out. Another hour and the refueling would be complete. The Torch was barely a ship; it was really a few cabins perched on top of a fusion reactor and four powerful engines.
Vance sat in the embarkation area waiting to board. He was seated in a hard plastic chair, enjoying a few last moments of the light lunar gravity. Soon enough he’d be squeezed into the force dampening chamber, something he was dreading. The crews had taken to calling the Torch’s innovative new system the “womb,” a term Vance had to admit was, at least superficially, fairly descriptive.
The trip would be hard, especially so soon after his breakneck voyage back to Sol. But there was no choice, no time to spare. Vance had been successful and had secured the agreement he’d come for. In the true style of politicians, the delegates had argued for some hours on what to call the partnership. Vance had put forth the name Grand Alliance, but the other Powers objected to the name’s similarity to Western Alliance, feeling it implied superior status for that nation. Coalition, confederation, and league were rejected for the same reason. Vance’s negative opinion of people was reinforced when the squabbling ambassadors wasted precious hours seeking a word that none of the Powers used in their names. But finally they agreed to Grand Pact. Vance thought it was a cumbersome name, but he was just glad to have the issue settled.
He knew his creation was imperfect. Despite the agreement, despite the real possibility of extermination that forged it, he was sure the Powers would play games. They would fight the invaders together, but they would jockey for position, each trying to insure it ended this war in a favorable position. Greed and stupidity would win out even over fear. But it was the best he could achieve, and it was a damned sight better than nothing.
He wondered how the various military establishments would fare under the Pact. The soldiers were less likely to debate and scheme and argue over details than the politicians and diplomats. He was sure of that, at least. But there were other issues…distrust, anger, old hatreds. How well would Cain’s Marines fight alongside Caliphate Janissaries? Would CEL grenadiers and the Chasseurs of Europa Federalis be able to put aside a century of hatred and war?
Vance didn’t know the answer, but he suspected the survival of the human race would depend on it.
Chapter 19
The conference had been going on for hours. It was the second time they’d met in the wastes of the Alpha 327 system. Alpha 327 was an unremarkable star with two barren, useless planets. But it was midway between Armstrong and Farpoint, making it the ideal location for strategy meetings.
Since they’d met a little over four months earlier, everything had changed. The enemy was methodically occupying the minor colony worlds along the route to Farpoint. That was tactically helpful, allowing more time to fortify Farpoint, but it was tragic as well. Those planets had small populations and, while the navy had evacuated as many people as it could, there were still colonists left behind. It tore at Cain to leave anyone unprotected, abandoned to die at the hands of a ruthless alien enemy, but there was nothing he could do. Any small forces he could have deployed to those worlds would have been wiped out; in the end they wouldn’t have saved a single colonist. He simply couldn’t afford to fritter away his strength on small, futile defense efforts. Once again, the cold math of war was clear. Cain knew he was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to live with himself.
The attack on the Caliphate and the release of Hofstader’s findings reduced the tension between the Powers. The diplomats had been working overtime since Vance left Luna. Slowly, grudgingly, they all came to realize they were facing something that transcended their mutual distrust and territorial squabbles…they came to realize they faced not just defeat, but the possible extinction of the human race. The Commnet communications from Luna reached Alpha 327 before Vance’s ship, so Admiral Garret had to update the Martian on what had transpired since he’d left the summit.
The establishment of the Grand Pact and the receding threat of war between the Powers allowed Garret to reinforce Admiral West’s Third Fleet. Positioned around Lexington was an armada of warships, all bound for Farpoint, and behind them, a flotilla of transports carrying part of Angus Frasier’s 2 nd Marine Division, welcome reinforcements to back up the battered 1 st Division.
Cain was listening to Vance’s update. He was in the same chair he’d occupied four months earlier, the only real difference being the larger crowd…and the third star on his collar. Lieutenant General Erik Cain had just assumed command of the reactivated I Corps. It was a formation more formidable on paper than in reality. Teller’s 1 st Brigade was shattered, and the survivors had pulled back to Armstrong to regroup and reinforce. That left Prescott’s 2 nd Brigade and the below-strength divisional support assets under 1 st Division’s new CO, Major General Darius Jax.
Angus Frasier’s 2 nd Division had mobilized, but could only field one combat-ready brigade. Designated 3 rd Brigade, it was on the way to Farpoint, led by Frasier himself. General Gilson was overseeing the final training and organization of Frasier’s 4th Brigade on Armstrong.
“The vote has been confirmed. The Grand Pact is in effect.” Vance had recounted the council on Luna, bringing some perspective to the messages Holm and Garret had received via Commnet. “The Powers are united against this threat.”