Hence, the SPATHA, a semi-obsolete Volgan tank, with the turret removed and a fighting compartment built up, a 152mm gun bored out to 160mm slung in the fighting compartment, and enough composite armor added on front to stop even a Gallic or Sachsen 120mm depleted uranium penetrator at knife fighting range.
And the redundant turrets go out to the Isla Real to add to its defenses.
He read first about the armor, a back-engineered composite expressly designed to defeat long rod penetrators. Satisfied with that, he pulled out several photos from an envelope attached to the report. One of these showed a dead pig, strapped into the gunner's station of a tank, with a machine gun driven completely through its body. All the other pigs, so said the report, were likewise killed, if not in so grisly a manner.
So, a hundred pound charge of a plastic explosive, splattered on the turret and detonated, will do that to the crew of the target, will it? Cool.
On the other hand, we still need to build nearly a thousand of the bastards, including for operational floats.
Turning the page to close that section of the report, Carrera skipped ahead several—there were forty-one major sections—to go to the section dealing with GLS Interdiction.
* * *
GLS, the Federated States' Global Locating System, and its Tauran and Volgan competitors (which were incomplete in any case, causing both to rely more or less heavily on the GLS anyway), depended upon timed signals. In effect, a receiver was bombarded continuously with signals that amounted to, "At the tone, the time will be." By comparing the time "stamps" it was given, a receiver could calculate quickly and accurately its location on the surface of the planet, its altitude, and even—if moving—its direction of travel. So dependent had all possible adversaries grown on the GLS system, that defeating or sabotaging it was a major priority of the Legion's R&D establishment.
But, as Obras Zorrilleras had discovered, there were some limitations to what could be done.
* * *
"It just won't work, sir," the project officer had said to Grishkin, out on the OZ facility on the Isla Real. "Not like we planned anyway."
Grishkin muttered "Why?"
The electronic engineer had pulled a white dome from off a Zion-supplied GLS. Pointing at a series of squared off funnels, the large open ends of which faced outward, he'd said, "It's these little bastards. We can acquire the signals from any eight or ten satellites that are covering an area. We can amplify those signals and delay them. We can send the delayed signals to a directional antenna and bombard an area with false data. But only three of these little devices will be oriented in the right direction to accept a signal. And the machine will ignore them as soon as the data they receive doesn't jibe with what the other horns—they're called feeder horns—are getting. The GLS will still be able to calculate its location from the remaining satellites' time stamps."
"Scowling, Grishkin had asked, "Can't we send from more than one location?"
"Yes, sir. And we can totally jam the signals if we can hit the target area from three sides; possibly even two. We can make the GLS useless. But we can't fool one into thinking it's somewhere other than where it really is . . . except, maybe, if we are in a very static situation. Even then, though, we won't be able to do anything too fine."
"Better than nothing," Grishkin had shrugged. "What about the other GLS systems, the ones that don't use the encrypted signal."
"Those, sir, we can fuck with unmercifully. They don't have the nasty little feeder horns to cut out our false transmissions." The engineer had led Grishkin to a different section of the building. A box stood on a table.
Again pointing, the engineer had said, "This is just a prototype, of course. It is intended to be emplaced at some area the enemy is likely to target or move through. It picks up the unencrypted signals, amplifies them, delays them, then broadcasts omnidirectionally. Range: Three to four thousand meters. Unencrypted GLS is useless within its range unless the jammer's signals are blocked by something, a building or mountain perhaps."
Considering for a moment, Grishkin had then asked, "Our own troops won't be able to use the GLS satellites in that case, will they?"
"No, sir, not once the jammer is turned on. Defensively, however, it will still be useful because our men will be able to use it in a given area before the enemy show up . . . before it's turned on."
The engineer turned from the jammer and led Grishkin to a different, larger, table.
"This is the most subtle project we have," he said. On the table stood a small remote piloted vehicle, a Zion-designed Molosar II, built under license in Balboa. "This doesn't screw with the location of the receiving set much, it hovers overhead, collects signals from those satellites that are most nearly overhead, delays them, and shoot them down in a 60 degree cone. This convinces a GLS receiver in the cone that it is much, much lower than it really is."
Grishkin understood immediately. "It makes aircraft navigation and artillery fire direction computers think they're much lower! Ha! The planes will fly too high, the artillery will shoot too far."
"Well . . . at least until they catch on," said the engineer had answered with a smirk.
* * *
Of course for that, Carrera thought, we'll have to have a pretty good idea where the artillery is and where the aircraft will fly through. Hmmm . . . note to Training Branch, of Cazador Tercio: Troops trained in maintaining deep hide reconnaissance positions.
And, thinking about deep hide and reconnaissance . . .
Carrera pressed a button on the intercom on his desk. "Lourdes, honey?"
"Si, Patricio?"
"I was just thinking about your fringe benefits and I've decided you have a legitimate grievance. Why don't you bring your bargaining committee to my office and we'll see if we can't . . . ummm . . . hammer out something fair."
Unseen by her husband, Lourdes shivered. She was always so desperately horny after she had a baby. It was even worse than when she was pregnant. The strength of her hormone driven desire was nearly a physical pain.
"Patricio," she answered in a husky voice, "that is just so tacky. I'll be right up."
Chapter Twenty-two
Neither reason nor emotion can be taken in excess.
Reason, in itself and standing alone, is a totally inadequate basis for maintaining a society. This is, indeed, the great flaw of the intellectual—far more so than his obsession with sex, his arrogance, and his selfishness—and why he is as much a danger to society as an asset and an ornament. Reason cannot tell the typical voter that he should not grant himself X largesse from the fisc when the penalty will not be paid until Y generation, a century down the road. That necessary restraint comes from an emotional commitment to future generations, and to the culture, values, and traditions of the society of which the voter is a part.
Indeed, once the practice of robbing the fisc is well established, reason must lead the voter to "get mine, before it's all gone."
Alternatively, a completely unreasoning and totally emotional commitment to society and its culture can lead to stagnation, to being surpassed by cultures somewhat more rationally based, and to destruction of that home culture in the general competition.
As with many things, toxicity is in the dose.
—Jorge y Marqueli Mendoza,