Old Guard Bolos Book #5

Rook's Gambit

John Mina

COLONEL RICHARD T. DONLON

His smile broadened as he gave a token knock and walked in beaming with pride. He had come directly from his graduation ceremony and still had on his dress blacks.

"Come on in, Petrik," the colonel said and sat back in his chair sizing up his former student.

The office was spacious but stark, with a solid dark norwood desk and three matching, uncushioned chairs. The only decorations interrupting the view of the pure white walls were three framed diplomas, four Certificates of Valor, and one large poster showing the famous fire-breathing skull over the number 19: the symbol of the colonel's regiment. Sean snapped to attention and gave a formal salute. "Lieutenant Petrik reporting as ordered, sir," he announced, stressing Lieutenant.

"At ease, Petrik, have a seat." The grey-haired colonel took a cigar out of the brass-trimmed humidor on his desk and offered another to the young officer.

"No thank you, sir. I don't smoke."

Donlon eyed the lieutenant as he lit the cigar and blew out huge puffs of white smoke. "You will, son. Wait 'till you `See the Elephant.' "

Sean smirked to himself with the image that brought up. Such an ancient expression with apparent origins in prespace Earth. Of course Donlon hadn't actually seen an elephant; no one had. They were extinct. Sean had seen a holovid of one, though, and it had to be one of the most ridiculous looking things the universe had ever produced. But he knew his old professor meant that he had never been in combat.

Donlon continued puffing as he spoke. "Congratulations, Petrik. Sorry you weren't first in your class at graduation."

"Bancroft deserved to be first, sir. She's a better commander."

"That's true, but you still have a lot to be proud of. Even the person who finishes last in the class is qualified to command a Bolo. But I don't have to tell you that. Anyway, the reason I called you away from all the celebrations and kisses from your sweetie is that I already have your first assignment."

"No trouble, sir. I broke it off with my `sweetie' in my first year. It just wasn't fair to her since I had no time available for the relationship." Sean could barely contain his excitement. "My assignment, sir?"

Donlon smiled and shook his head. "Always the practical one." After another puff, the colonel began his briefing. "I've been asked to pick someone for a special assignment. I realize you just graduated, but your skills are needed on the front. You'll be shipping out in two days."

"Thank you, sir." Petrik could barely contain his elation. "I've been looking forward to fighting the Melconians for two years now. Ever since my cousin was killed. But why me?"

"You're one of the few who were trained with the still classified Mark XXXIV. But you won't be fighting Melconians. You're going to Delas. You all right, son?"

Lieutenant Petrik couldn't help but flinch. His head was reeling with all this new information to process. "Well . . . yes, sir, I helped field test the Mark XXXIV and I've been dreaming of commanding one. But . . . er . . . where the hell is Delas? And who will I be fighting?"

"Delas is on the frontier. And you'll be fighting the Kezdai. Here." He tossed a large envelope. "You can study all the details. However, you won't be commanding. Your Bolo will be operating under General Cho."

Sean's disappointment was evident but he maintained his composure. "Any relation to `The' General Cho?"

Colonel Donlon sat back and took a long draw from his cigar. Then he slowly blew out the smoke while he tapped the ashes into a silver receptacle. "It is `The' General Cho."

This was more than the lieutenant could bear. "General Cho? General Hayward Cho, the Hero of Laxos? But that was back in 3311." His face was a mask of disbelief. "He must be over . . . "

"He's 97. And he's been retired for twenty years or so. He taught here at the Academy for thirty years. Where do you think I learned tactics?"

"But why would they . . . "

"The old bastard settled down on an obscure frontier planet. Said it was just what he was looking for. Secluded, peaceful . . . Said he was going to study the art of `bonsai,' whatever the hell that is. Well, he had the bad luck to pick a spot that wound up right in the middle of a major invasion. It seems these Kezdai need the minerals on Delas and don't have much use for humans. The current situation can only be described as unstable. About three years ago this previously undiscovered race called Kezdai sent an expeditionary force to Delas to see what they were up against. They were squashed pretty quickly but followed up with a full-scale invasion with a mission of total conquest and annihilation of the resident humans. It was touch and go for a while but the locals managed to hold them to about half the planet. The battles in the surrounding space have yet to have either side emerge dominant so your insertion will be as covert as possible. The hope is that these extra Bolos will turn the tide. Unfortunately, there are very few veteran Bolo commanders around and old Cho got drafted out of retirement."

Sean mused, "I guess if I have to serve under someone, it might as well be the greatest Bolo tactician of all time. You think he's still sharp?"

The colonel looked thoughtful. "You never know with Cho. There was somewhat of a scandal when he retired. A few of the higher-ups thought he was incompetent. They sort of forced his retirement."

"He was declared incompetent twenty years ago?" Petrik was almost shouting. "Colonel, what have you gotten me into?"

"I'm not sure, son. That's why I picked you. You're one of the best I've ever seen and, well, I thought you could handle it no matter what the situation."

The lieutenant stared at his instructor, watching the smoke billow over the desk. Then he took a deep, smokeless breath, exhaled slowly, and gave his monotone reply. "Thank you, Colonel. I'll do what I can."

* * *

Sean popped the hatch of his "egg" and was immediately conscious of the rich organic smell of this planet while the steamy air caused his face to perspire. As he crawled out, the arhythmic symphony produced by the forest life provided a stark contrast to the silence of the highly insulated drop pod. He gazed at the gigantic trees whose branches intermingled to form an upper strata for the arboreal denizens as well as provide a protective canopy for the creatures on the ground.

Petrik's mind raced ahead, powered by the anxiety of adjusting to a new world, a new Bolo, and a very, very old commander whom he worshiped as a legend but who, at this point, might be a feeble old tree grower. That's what bonsai was. He had looked it up. The art of growing trees and keeping them small. It seemed kind of silly, since there were plenty of plants that looked just like small trees.

There was certainly no lack of large trees here. The forest seemed to go on forever, with an infinite variety of vegetation. Many of the trees seemed like giant grasses and almost all had thick nests of undergrowth around their bases. He often couldn't tell where the host tree left off and the parasitic vines began. Or maybe they were all part of the same organism. He'd never had much use for botany but there were some fascinating specimens here.

Sean was in the process of admiring a particularly grandiose tree with green bark when a great, blood-curdling roar issued from behind it. The brush shook violently, then an enormous creature burst out and charged directly at him. The thing was scuttling on jointed legs that moved a lot faster than he thought possible and was wielding a pair of vicious claws. Sean's combat training took over and he leapt to the side milliseconds before the razor-sharp blades snapped together in the space he had just occupied. The momentum of the charge caused the beast to take a few seconds to spin around and renew the attack but by then Sean had his gauss pistol out and was blowing dozens of holes in its carcass. Even so, the creature still managed to complete its final lunge, which Petrik sidestepped, before it flopped, lifeless, to the ground.

"Holy shit!" the lieutenant exclaimed, examining the alien. It was about four meters long and, when it had stood up to run, was about two meters high. The entire body was covered by a rock-hard, greenish brown shell and it had twelve legs plus the two deadly claws, as well as some smaller, more intricate appendages near its mouth that it must use to assist the eating process. Then he anxiously looked around for any others. Is this a Kezdai? he thought. But on further inspection he saw no evidence of weapons or armor. Besides, from what he had read, they weren't suppose to be this big. Also they were described as vaguely reptilian with bird beaks. This thing looked more like a cross between a crab and a giant cockroach. It was probably described in the fauna disc but he had never gotten around to studying it.

Giving the beast a good-bye nudge with his boot, he resumed his trek; this time keeping a sharper watch for danger instead of just sightseeing.

When he finally broke into a clearing, the sight he was presented with inspired a great pounding in his chest. There it was, the Mark XXXIV. His Mark XXXIV! God, what a beauty! He'd only seen them on the testing range. But here, in this pristine natural setting, it looked like an armed city that had floated down out of the clouds. The twin Hellbores jutted out; the shiny new mortars glistened in the daylight. And the Hellrails . . . They stuck straight up giving the appearance of invulnerable towers. The Hellrails were the latest development on the Bolos. That's what made it a Mark XXXIV. These were not the puny railguns mounted by the outdated local militia tanks, the Templars. These were advanced Bolo railguns, more powerful than any other mobile land weapon in the known universe. The twin Hellrails were sixty meters long and were designed for knocking out enemy ships even before they entered orbit. Each delivered a bolt of ninety megatons. How could the Kezdai stand up to such firepower?

When he approached the Bolo he noticed a tall, thin man working on one of the forward turrets. "Hello there," Sean called up.

The man continued working but responded. "H'llo." Petrik caught a glimpse of a weathered, reddened face and a large nose sticking out from under a dark mop of unkempt hair.

"I'm Lieutenant Petrik."

"Figured." The man switched tools and spat.

This was less of a reception than he had expected and he was not about to tolerate insubordination. "I said I'm Lieutenant Petrik, soldier. You do know how to salute don't you? Delas may be on the other end of the universe but it's still part of the Concordiat."

The technician turned around slowly and sized up the indignant officer. Then he put away his tool, hiked up the filthy grey coveralls that he looked so natural in, and methodically climbed down. He jumped off the lower platform and walked up to his superior. "Tell you what, Lieutenant. This fancy crate of yours is goin' into battle in three days and I'm the only maintenance crew there is. He took a pretty hard fall when they dropped him and got a couple of hardwoods up the kazoo. Now, I can spend the next three days followin' you around wipin' your ass or I can be puttin' things right with this machine. Your call. But it won't be my butt stickin' out when the shit starts flyin'."

The lieutenant glared at the man. "What's your name, soldier?"

"Private Lawlor."

"Carry on, Lawlor. The general inside?" He pointed to the Bolo.

"Yup." The private turned back and began to climb.

Sean mounted the elevator platform and rose into the control room. From what he could see, the Bolo seemed to be intact inside but if it hit hard enough to damage some of the external systems, it was likely that a few things were shaken loose in the internal systems as well. Seated in the commander's chair was a dark, shriveled figure, hunched over and staring at a chess board with a cigar in his left hand. His right arm was missing all the way to the shoulder. Sharing the table with the chess pieces were an ash tray, a half filled glass, and an almost empty bottle.

"General Cho?"

"Shhh . . ." He waved Sean away with the cigar. "I'll be with you in a minute."

Petrik stood at attention and took this time to study his commander. The dry brown head had a few wild hairs protruding which were outnumbered by a maze of leathery wrinkles. The old man hadn't shaved in days—nor showered, Sean surmised from the strong smell of stale urine that pervaded the room. The clothes also were ancient and filthy, not even suggestive of a uniform, with the shirt being completely open, exposing a hairless chest and pot belly. Almond-shaped eyes that were a startling blue-green. Labored, raspy breath. He must be damn smart if he can challenge a Bolo in chess, Sean thought.

The lieutenant shifted his gaze to the Bolo, carefully checking the layout and comparing it to the prototype he trained in. He did notice a few refinements and wondered if any of the suggestions he'd made ever made it past that shit-brained company clerk and actually got implemented. A blinking light caught his attention and he realized that there was a problem with the coolant recirculator. I just hope I can get this puppy battle ready over the next few days, he thought.

Finally, the general moved his rook forward a few spaces. A voice, the Bolo's, came out of the console. "General, I would not recommend that move. It would place your queen in unnecessary jeopardy."

The old man's eyes flared and he dropped his cigar into the ashtray. Then he hurled his drink against the control panel, shattered glass and liquid flying everywhere, and began screaming. "Don't you ever advise me when we play chess, you rusty piece of scrap! I have bowel movements that have been in existence longer than you! You just worry about your own damn game!"

"These goddam newbies," he continued, addressing no one in particular. "They squeeze 'em right out of the factory and they think they know everything. You've still got packing grease in your rocker bearings, you rolling latrine!"

"As you wish, General Cho," the Bolo responded calmly. "Queen's knight to queen's bishop four."

After taking a long swig directly from the bottle the general moved one of his pawns two spaces sideways and one forward to capture the Bolo's queen.

"I'm afraid that you have made an illegal move, General Cho," the Bolo protested.

"I'm invoking the Melconian variation," Cho replied calmly. "I don't imagine they taught you that one. Well, I'm not surprised since you've never been to the front. Anyway, it's real simple. Once per game, each pawn can move like the piece it protects at the start of the game. My pawn was in front of the king's knight so I used it to take your queen. Any questions?"

"No, General Cho. Using the Melconian variation, you can legally take my queen, and will have my king in three moves."

"Very good. You ain't so dumb as you look." Then he turned to Petrik and seemed to notice him for the first time. "I suppose you think you're hot shit too, Fish-Boy."

"Fish-Boy, sir?"

"You're from Corradin II, aren't you? That's what your bio said."

"Yes, sir, but . . ."

"Coradin II's a water planet, right?'

"Well, yes, sir, but there is a rather large land mass. I was raised in the mountains and didn't see the ocean until I went to the spaceport in Beattieburg. That was when I was shipping out for Fort Schen."

The general stared and blinked for a moment, then said, "When I was in the Academy we called all the men from Corradin II Fish-Boy. That's what I'm calling you."

"Yes, sir."

The Bolo spoke up. "Welcome aboard, Lieutenant Sean Petrik. You already know General Hayward Cho and I am TRK-213."

The Bolo's greeting was a welcome relief. "Thank you, TRK-213. How about we give you a better name?"

"I would appreciate it, sir. I was considering Tarkus."

"Excellent! Tarkus it is."

"Not so fast, Fish-Boy. You're not in command here unless I keel over. Tarkus is a great name with a glorious history in the Corps. A name like that has to be earned. Until then you're Turkey."

"Turkey?" the Bolo and Sean exclaimed simultaneously.

"It was a large Terran bird. Kind of like a Bachmanian plogger, only fatter and dumber."

"Nothing could be fatter and dumber than a plogger!" the lieutenant cried in disbelief.

"Well, turkeys were," replied Cho. "The Terrans used to raise them and sacrifice them once a year in some religious feast. They were suppose to be great eating."

"Then I will be called Turkey." The Bolo sounded dejected.

The General took another pull from the bottle, then gave a sigh of appreciation. "I'll tell you, Fish-Boy. There's no substitute for real, distilled scotch. Oh, I know the synthohols are chemically identical. And I wouldn't expect a sprout like you to know the difference. But when you been around as long as I have you can understand the value of time. I feel a kind of kinship with a well-aged single malt. Like we're old friends." He offered the bottle to Petrik. "Go ahead, son."

"No thank you, General. I don't drink."

Cho considered this for a while and his eyes seemed to penetrate into Sean's soul. "Tell me, Fish-Boy. What are the three most important things in life?"

The lieutenant was about to speak when the general answered his own question.

"Scotch, chess, and cigars; in that order."

"Well, sir, I have to disagree. What about women, children, family?"

"I said things, not people. For God's sake, boy, I hope you realize that people are always more important than things. If not, you have no business in the Corps."

"No, sir, that's not what I mean," Sean was getting flustered. "I mean . . . "

The general turned back to the chess board and picked up a rook. "When this game was invented, this piece was also called a castle. Trouble is, their castles couldn't move. The Bolo is the true rook. A mobile castle."

"General," Petrik said abruptly, changing the subject. "Private Lawlor told me that we're going into battle in three days. Is that true, sir?"

General Cho smiled and shook his head. "That John is quite a character. Plays one hell of a game of chess. But he's right. I've got to drag you and Turkey here into the maelstrom in a couple of days."

"Well, shouldn't we be running Turkey through maneuvers? That's not as much time as I need but I should be able to field test all the major weapons systems if I can start right away." Petrik then addressed the Bolo. "Are you aware of any systems damage, Turkey? What's wrong with the recirculator?"

"Some of my sensor links seem to be functioning at less than optimal levels. In addition, two of the backup systems as well as the coolant recirculator—"

The general interrupted. "I'll tell you what you'll start, Fish-Boy. Lawlor has a list of supplies he needs. You'll be taking the rover to the depot and filling the requisition."

"But sir, I'm the only one here who knows the Mark XXXIV. I need to . . . "

The general got the same look he had just before he threw the drink. "You need to follow orders, you little shit! Are you telling me I don't know Bolos? Now get the hell out of here!"

As Petrik made his way out he heard the general address Turkey. "How 'bout I get me a fresh bottle and we start another game?"

"Will we be using the Melconian variation in this game as well, General?"

"Only if one of us invokes it. Until then it's not in effect . . ."

Sean was disgusted. No wonder the old fool could play chess with a Bolo, he thought as he went outside. He cheats.

* * *

Two days later the lieutenant was cursing out loud as he pulled up next to Turkey. What a nightmare of a trip, he recalled, renewing his frustration. First of all, it took the rest of the first day to get the list from that bastard Lawlor. Sean spent the time inspecting and testing some of the external systems and did manage to repair the recirculator but he really wanted to get inside and put the Bolo through its paces. When he finally got the list it was getting dark and the technician told him he'd better wait until morning to leave. Petrik spent a restless night in the field barracks and, in the morning, was presented with a rover that was actually the incarnation of Satan himself. Between breakdowns and bad directions his two hour trip took closer to eight. And each time he broke down, he had to spend every other second looking over his shoulder for more of those crab monsters. Fortunately, they must have been pretty rare because he didn't encounter any more. Then those rotten sons-of-bitches at the supply depot kept giving him the run around and he didn't have his requisition filled until after nightfall. He spent that night in a damp tent being devoured by flying and crawling insects the likes of which could only be conceived by servants of the lower planes of hell. The drive back only took five hours since he knew the way and just had to deal with the breakdowns, but, since he'd left, every minute, every second was eating away at his insides and the five hours seemed more like twenty. He was going into battle the next day and had spent less than an hour with his Bolo. The damage to those sensor links could be critical, not to mention the possibility of faulty backup systems and who knew what else. Well, hopefully, the general was able to check out the major systems, he thought. He couldn't be that much out of touch . . . or could he?

"General, we have to test the systems! The battle is tomorrow!"

General Cho completely ignored the outburst. He took a sip of his drink, then leaned forward and slid his rook diagonally across the board and captured a pawn. He then removed his own rook.

"Once again, General, you have made a move that I am unfamiliar with."

"Rook's Gambit. Once per game the rook can move like any other piece on the board but then it is sacrificed. I'm surprised your programmers left out the latest rule changes. I believe that is checkmate, my friend, or at least will be in three moves."

"You are correct, General," Turkey replied.

Cho then turned to the distraught lieutenant. "What's all this commotion?"

"Well, sir. It's just that I don't want to be in the middle of a battle and have one of the systems fail."

"Don't talk to me about failing systems, Fish-Boy!" the general yelled. "How do you think I lost this arm? That was back in '14 and I was commanding a Mark XXVIII. Not a bad unit, the XXVIII, but not up to the XXX's standards. Anyway, we had the Melconians on the run, like usual, when we took a direct hit on the starboard hull, just below the mizzen mortar, and the damn lateral stabilizer failed. Slammed me against the rail so hard my right arm was shredded."

"Why don't you use a prosthetic, sir? I hear they work better than the real thing."

"I got one of them things at home; use it as a back scratcher. Nope, never liked it. Gives me a rash. Anyway, don't worry about the systems. John says they should all work just fine when he's done."

"Um, excuse me, sir, but I don't think Private Lawlor is qualified for this unit. I mean, well, isn't he responsible for maintaining the rover also?"

"Yeah, he sure loves that thing." The general smiled. "You're lucky he let you drive it. He's pretty particular about that. But I guess he really didn't have a choice."

He's lucky I didn't dump it into the river, Sean thought. "But about the testing . . ."

"Lawlor says he needs a hand outside. Go see what you can do to help."

Petrik was about to protest but he saw that look again and just saluted. "Yes, General."

The mechanic was under the Bolo finishing up a seam weld with a laser pistol. Sean admired his dexterity and complete absorption in the task. When it was completed he called out. "Private Lawlor! I'd like a word with you."

Lawlor removed his face plate and put it on the ground with the rest of his equipment, then sauntered over, wiping sweat from his forehead. "As many words as you like, L.T. It's your credits. Anyway, I could use the break."

"Nice job you did on that seam. Looks like new."

"Better than new. That's pure durachrome solder I was using. If his belly splits, it won't be at that seam."

"Anyway, the general sent me out to see if you need a hand. I can see that you do, but, before I start, can you give me the lowdown? What's happening around here?"

"I guess you already know about the invasion. About three years ago the first wave of Kruds landed and got their asses kicked by your Bolos."

"Kruds?" Petrik inquired.

"Them damn Kedzees, or whatever they call themselves. We call 'em Kruds. Well, it seems they learned a whole lot about us in their defeat and the next time they came they were ready. And a whole lot more than before.

"We didn't get too much of the action up here but the bastards took over most of the southern regions. Wiped out everyone they got their claws on. We lost quite a few Bolos as well. Looks like we're gearing up for another planet buster of a battle. Leastwise that's how I figure it. Why else would HQ be spreading the front all the way out here?"

"Maybe it's just a precaution. Why take a chance of being flanked?"

"We're already flanked, Lieutenant. Those scaly buggers are stretched out across the whole continent. But now that we got reinforcements, well, I bet they're rethinking things a bit. " 'Course, even with the new forces, we're still spread out thin as a spider's thread."

"You're probably right, Private. Well, whatever happens, we want to be ready. What do you need me to do?"

"Got most of the hull breaches sewed up. That starboard-aft repeater's giving me a devil of a time though. I'm gonna have to jury-rig the targeting manifold. It's probably gonna take me most of the afternoon. How about calibrating the forward mortars?"

Petrik spent more time fending off insects than working and instead of feeling better about actually having some hands on time with Turkey, by the end of the day he felt worse. For every repair job he completed he found three more things that needed attention. He needed at least a week with a full twelve man maintenance crew to bring the Bolo up to regulation standards. "The damn battle is suppose to be tomorrow and I don't even know if he can get there without an anti-grav towbus," he muttered to himself. As he worked he made up his mind that he was not going to trust Cho. Tonight he would sneak into the Bolo and program an override in case the old man became confused during the battle.

It was about two in the morning when he crept into the control room. There was the general, still sitting and playing chess. Turkey communicated the next move and addressed the commander.

"I believe that is check mate, General. Or will be in three moves."

"What the hell kind of move was that? Knights can't move just one space!"

"The move is called Dismounting." The Bolo answered calmly. "When you dismount your knight, it moves like a king. But once a knight dismounts, it can not regain its original movement power."

The general sat back and sighed. He looked even older and more withered as he looked over at Sean. "Couldn't sleep, eh son? I remember the night before my first battle. Didn't get one minute of shut eye. Well, don't you worry, boy, you're gonna do just fine. And so are you, Turkey. This sure as hell isn't my first battle so I'm gonna get some rest. You two go ahead and run whatever tests you want, just don't make a racket. Make sure I'm up fifteen minutes before dawn."

The old man finished his drink, rose slowly, and, with a staggering shuffle, feebly made his way to the elevator. Sean wanted to help him but didn't want to take a chance of firing the general up. Was this really the great Hero of Laxos? The man who was responsible for saving an entire planet, six hundred million people, from being conquered by the Melconians? He looked so frail and withered now, but he must have been gloriously impressive in his prime.

As soon as Cho left, Petrik began to run some tests. The diagnostic program showed a long list of malfunctions. "Turkey, twenty-five percent of your systems are damaged! Can you even function in combat?"

"I believe that most of my primaries will be within acceptable parameters, though some are at the lower end of the range. Private Lawlor assures me that I am battle ready."

"Has Lawlor ever worked on a Bolo before?"

"No, Lieutenant Petrik, but he has extensive experience working with Templars and came highly recommended."

"Highly recommended? By whom?"

"General Cho."

"That figures. Well, he does know how to patch up a hull, but I have my doubts about that repeater he tried to repair." Petrik looked at the damage list again and shook his head. Too late do anything about this now. "Who knows, maybe the battle will be postponed."

He then began to program in the override. He felt guilty, betraying his hero, but he wasn't prepared to risk Turkey and possibly the whole battle to the whims of a dotard. Besides, he might not have to activate it. It was only a safeguard in case of extreme emergency.

* * *

Sean awoke to the gentle voice of Turkey. "Lieutenant Petrik. It's time to prepare for today's battle."

"You ready for the big time, Fish-Boy?"

Sean turned and saw the general in his chair. He was clean shaven and was wearing a pressed uniform. The table in front of him was missing the chess board but still had the essential scotch and cigar-filled ashtray. Petrik marveled at how much authority his commander projected. "Yes, sir."

"Well, here's the situation. We're facing a huge build-up of Kezdai forces spread out across a three-hundred-kilometer front. There is a gap between two mountain ranges. Apparently one of the Kezdai warlords or factions or whatever the hell you call them put their entire force here hoping to make a breakthrough. He's risking a lot but if he succeeds it will be a disaster for us. We've been dug in here, hoping they would attack but they know we're too strong and they want to avoid a frontal assault. Anyway, General Rokoyan, the local commander, decided we'd better attack or they'll have too much time to prepare positions and plant mines. On our side we have Turkey, and five Mark XXXs, along with a number of lesser battle wagons like Templars, Specters, artillery, and infantry. We can't count on any air support but neither can they.

"We've got the far right flank, as well as command of the entire operation. Our goal is to crush or at least disperse them. I believe there are much bigger assaults going on elsewhere but I wouldn't expect them to tell us anything. If the enemy breaks through here, they have a clear shot at flanking our main body which could lead to total defeat."

Sean listened carefully as he watched the map on the viewscreen showing their position as well as the enemy's. "If they haven't planted too many mines already, we should be in pretty good shape. From all that I've learned, they don't have much that can hurt a Bolo too badly. And with the Hellrails we can keep the sky clear."

The general pondered the Hellrails. "Yeah, pretty impressive. Too bad they're mounted on the back and don't really lower enough to use as a ground weapon."

The lieutenant laughed. "That would be too dangerous, too devastating. It would destroy everything in the line of fire as well as most of the terrain."

"Guess you're right, Fish-Boy. Okay folks. Let's saddle up."

Lawlor radioed that the area was clear and Turkey lurched forward. Slowly at first, then gradually increasing to about half cruising speed. Without a road, the trees and rocky ground kept him to about fifty kilometers per hour.

"All other Bolo units moving into position, General Cho," Turkey reported. "They say they need about sixteen minutes for secondaries to catch up. No reports of hostilities."

"Don't worry, there'll be plenty of hostility soon enough. I expect a shit storm as soon as we clear that ridge." He pointed to a line on the screen.

Sean's hands were sweating and he found himself comforted by the confident presence of his commander. He was actually glad he wasn't in command right now. He couldn't imagine the pressure of being in charge during his first battle.

Sixteen minutes seemed to take forever; then Turkey spoke. "All units in position, General. Awaiting your command."

General Cho looked over at Sean and raised his glass. "Sure you don't want some, kid? Might be a while before you get another chance."

The young officer shook his head.

"All right then. Here's the toast we use to give back when I was a lieutenant. To Hell with all generals!" he yelled and polished off his drink. "All units forward!"

Cho was right. As soon as they rolled over the ridge, Turkey started to rock from the impact of enemy fire. Petrik heard the humming vibration of the infinite repeaters and the muffled blasts of the destroyed incoming missiles.

"No serious damage," the Bolo reported. "Have taken one plasma blast to the forward hull. Six Kallibatt Toros are spread out in an arc directly in front of us with massed infantry as well as artillery support."

Sean looked at the myriad of dots on the tactical screen, some large, many smaller and knew that each represented an enemy vehicle. So many in a defensive formation, he thought. Could the Bolo really handle them all at once? He felt Turkey wheel to the right and increase speed.

"Engaging counter-grav projectors," Turkey announced, then began a mad sprint towards the enemy at just under two hundred kilometers per hour.

Now the Bolo's mortars were in full play and Sean was mesmerized by the devastation he witnessed on the viewscreen. In almost precise regular intervals he saw eight enemy vehicles destroyed, exploding in brilliant fireballs, one after the other like a well-timed fireworks display. Some of the wreckage which was showering down after the blasts was heavily spotted with what registered as organic matter. God, he thought to himself. Those last two must have been personnel carriers. "Poor bastards," he said out loud.

"What's the matter, Fish-Boy?" General Cho queried. "Ain't got the guts for this? They're trying to do that to you right now."

"You're right, General. It's just that—"

"I know, son. Puked myself first time I crawled out of my Bolo and saw the piles of mush that used to be Melconians we had just been fighting. There's a barf-bag in the right side pocket in your chair. I'd appreciate you using it. No sense in sliming up a brand-new Bolo."

Petrik had drilled often with this model Bolo but never dreamed it could be so effective in actual combat. The mortars fired again and another half-dozen enemy targets vanished in flames. But two remained intact and returned fire. Turkey was rocked by the impact, then launched another salvo from the mortars. The two vehicles were completely annihilated.

"Shouldn't have missed those two the first time, Turkey," the general chided.

"I am sorry, General. There is a problem with the targeting mechanism. I have made adjustments and recalibrated."

"I hope your calibrations are up to scratch because we're gonna need them real bad in about two seconds." Cho was staring at the screen and bracing for impact.

An enormous blast jarred Petrik and he bruised his wrist against the console. "Nuclear plasma discharge," Cho commented to his junior officer. Then he smiled. "At least we know the lateral stabilizers are working." The viewscreen showed a huge vehicle, hull-down, with what looked like giant bull's horns curving up in the front.

"A Kallibatt!" Petrik cried. "God, what a monster! Were you hurt bad in that blast Turkey?"

The lieutenant heard the roar and felt the vibration of what he realized was the Bolo's reply to both him and the enemy. Both Hellbores fired simultaneously. The Kallibatt must have just been ready to launch another nuke when Turkey's Hellbores hit it. At first they didn't seem to have much effect, then, in an instant, the whole thing was just a blinding flash. The Kallibatt's own nuke must have detonated as well.

He found himself cheering with exhilaration at the virtual disintegration of such a powerful enemy vehicle. "That's the toughest thing they have! I knew nothing here could stand up against a Bolo!"

More violent jarring shook the lieutenant back to concentrating on the battle and Turkey continued his report. "Lost use of starboard-aft mortar and associated repeaters."

"How about coming in behind that rock pile in delta three?" Cho suggested. "At least it'll keep the damn nuclear cannons off us for a while."

Sean heard more mortars firing and Turkey wheeled again and answered the general. "I believe they have anticipated that move and have heavily mined that route."

"So blow the damn things up!" Cho yelled. "You waiting for an invitation?"

"I have already launched a spread of ground-busters."

The viewscreen showed huge explosions throwing hill-sized clumps of ground hundreds of meters into the air, turning the sky black for a moment directly ahead as the mortars hit the hidden mines. Then Sean saw two more Kallibatts. Wham! Wham! Two more nukes rocked the Bolo which again answered with the Hellbores. It took longer this time but both the enemy vehicles were fried, their armor and cannon barrels actually melting. Neither went as spectacularly as the first one but it was still exhilarating to watch. Before he got a chance to savor the moment he heard Turkey launching a salvo of missiles.

"Have targeted the nuclear cannon emplacements," the Bolo stated. "As soon as they are neutralized I believe that the remaining resistance will fall without difficulty."

Petrik watched the tactical screen and saw the dots representing the enemy artillery wink out, one by one. "That's it, General," he said as he leaned back in his chair. "Just a mop-up from here. Good job, Turkey."

"Report coming in, General," announced Turkey. "DRT-998 has hit a mine. Has lost mobility and is under assault from superior forces."

"A mine?" Sean cried. "But why didn't they . . ."

"JHI-377 reporting that LLB-444 has also hit a mine. Power plant exploded. It is believed that LLB-444 is destroyed!"

General Cho started to shout. "Order all units to break off attack! Use same path as advance. Repeat general retreat! Return to base line and defend." Then he turned to Sean. "The bastards had hidden mines besides the ones we detected."

Petrik was in shock. "Retreat? But . . . "

His words were cut off by a blast that lifted the entire port side of the Bolo in the air and threw him violently against the arm of his chair. A searing pain in his side told him that he must have cracked a few ribs. Sparks showered down on his head from the circuit panel above him and the whole lighting system flickered on and off.

"Turkey, report!" he screamed.

"We hit a mine. All systems and weapons on port side destroyed. Seventy-six percent loss of mobility."

Petrik turned to speak to the general but saw the old man lying limp in his chair. He also became aware of the sound of screaming gears and loud music playing and felt his Bolo careening around in a circle. "Turkey, what the hell is that noise?"

"It is the second movement of Nabatoff's Fifth Symphony; the Battle March."

"Why are you playing it? Turn it off!"

"I like it. No."

Sean realized that the logic circuits of the Bolo must have been damaged by the explosion. "Activate override series Q3GK9-alpha."

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but General Cho anticipated your actions. He programmed in an anti-override, override that stays in effect until he stops breathing."

"You mean he—"

"Is still alive."

"But his last orders were to retreat!"

There was a tremendous crashing sound and he felt the whole world tilting. He clung to arms of his chair and realized that the Bolo was on its side with no apparent power except the dim red emergency lights. "Turkey, are you all right?"

The silence that followed was answer enough. Sean felt sick. All his life he wanted to be part of the Dinochrome Brigade, to fight in a Bolo. Now here he was and he had helped to destroy a Mark XXXIV, the newest, most powerful Bolo of all time, on its maiden battle. Poor Turkey. Poor general. He unsnapped himself from the straps and managed to climb and crawl over to the general's chair. There was a faint, thready pulse and slight breath. The general was still alive. He had to get him out and carry him back to the base. The Kezdai took no prisoners. He carefully unsnapped the general and gently lowered him to the floor, which used to be the wall. His damaged ribs gave him so much pain that he almost lost consciousness. Then he remembered the emergency first aid kit that contained pain killers and steroid boosters. If he was going to carry the general for kilometers, he'd need them. He was in the process of planning his climb to the compartment where the pills where when the Bolo started to vibrate. Then shook violently.

Then Turkey spoke. "We just destroyed five enemy vehicles, Lieutenant Petrik."

Sean was amazed. "Turkey, you're all right? But how?"

"No, sir, I have suffered extensive damage. But I still have a functional Hellrail. In this position I am able to deploy it to sweep the battlefield and it destroys anything it hits. Fortunately, most of our units have already retreated and I am able to hit the enemy in the flanks. Prepare for another shot."

The lieutenant held the general as the Bolo shook once more.

"Three more kills, sir. I'm afraid they know where the fire is coming from now. After the first shot they must have thought we somehow had an air strike called in. Many of their weapons are turning toward us. You will notice that I have placed our damaged side beneath us so we should be able to destroy many more of them before they get us."

"So you weren't crazy after all. Good ol' Turkey. You give 'em hell."

Three more times the Hellrail fired, each time Sean delighting in the staggering damage they were doing to the enemy, though he couldn't see any of it since the viewscreen was ruined, but was also aware that they were sitting ducks. Turkey had taken some bad hits and he knew the Bolo could only stand one or two more. He felt the general stiffen after the last shock wave and heard him groan.

"General, this is Fish-Boy. Can you hear me?"

" 'Course I can," Cho groaned weakly. "I just got the shit beat out of me but I'm not deaf. What the hell's going on? Looks like you botched things up."

Another hit rocked the Bolo and Sean could tell the armor was slag. Turkey reported. "That one took out the Hellrail, sir. The next one will finish us."

Sean explained the situation to his commander and, to his surprise, the general started laughing. "I'll tell you what, Fish-Boy. Turkey's one hell of a chess player. Anyway, there's no loss with me dying. Just a shame that a pup like you has to go. You might have made a pretty good player yourself."

Turkey's voice became excited. "The other three Bolos! They're rallying toward us! The enemy is breaking!"

"Son," the general addressed the lieutenant. "How about climbing up to my chair and pulling a bottle of scotch out of the starboard compartment?"

Sean almost laughed. "Yes, sir!" And did so despite wracking pain in his side.

"General Cho?" he asked as he handed him the now open bottle. "You want to explain to me just what is going on?"

"It's real simple, son. I'd never go into battle with a Bolo that couldn't beat me in chess. When I was playing all those games with Turkey, here, I was . . ."

"Programming him to think!"

"Now you're catching on. But it's more than that. I had to teach Turkey to think in unconventional ways."

"So the new rules . . ."

"Were all bullshit. These Kezdai are real bright and have a way of figuring out what we are gonna do even before we do it. I had to teach Turkey to make things up on the moment and do things that couldn't be predicted, even if it didn't follow the rules. The whole time he was acting like a Bolo bird-brain the enemy thought he was out of the fight. Then when he crashed, tipped over and shut down they figured he was finished. They never guessed that he was lining up that damn Hellrail to blow them off the field.

"By the way, Turkey, I'd say you earned the name Tarkus after today."

"Well, actually, General," the Bolo replied. "I think I'll stick with Turkey. It's . . . unconventional."

They all laughed. "Turkey it is!" proclaimed Cho.

"There's just one more thing, General," Sean said.

"What's that, Fish-Boy?"

"Could you pass me the Scotch?"