Old Guard Bolos Book #5

"Kaethan should be arriving pretty soon," Serina said as she climbed out and began drying off. "Did you want to wait upstairs in the lobby while I shower?"

"No, I'll wait for you here."

Serina shrugged and smiled.

"Okay. It'll just be a few minutes."

As Serina left, Colonel Ishida thought that this would be a good time to talk to Chains again. It had been almost twenty minutes, anyway. After taking another drink he reached for his fieldcomm.

"Anything new, Chains?"

"Blackstone is on alert, Commander. The unidentified vessel has still not communicated and is entering orbit on an approach pattern to land at Reims."

Reims was the starport that served south Deladin, located across from Telville on the East Coast. Starveil was actually closer to Telville than Reims was, so the colonel always landed there instead when he visited.

"Have you scanned the ship?"

Ishida, of course, didn't have to ask this question. He knew that Chains and Quarter would be all over the intruder the moment they were given High Alert Status. What he wanted was a report, and Chains gave him all the data that he could while Toman listened without a word. The ship was a design that neither Chains nor Quarter had ever logged before, but that was not unexpected. The Concordiat ruled over hundreds of worlds, many with their own merchant fleets operating independently from the interstellar government. None of the data Chains had compiled could confirm without a doubt that this was an alien ship.

The colonel was happy to learn, however, that very few nukes were onboard. It was definitely not a nuclear fireship that was approaching.

"The orbital arrays have ignited their reactors." Chains suddenly announced.

"Can you tap into their scans?"

"Negative. Data from the holistic systems is encrypted."

"Damn."

Toman jumped at her voice, and palmed his fieldcomm. Serina was back in her normal clothes and drying her hair with her towel. He tried to think of some excuse for his outburst, but Serina just smiled and spoke before he could form one.

"Security told me that Kaethan just came through the gate. We should go upstairs to meet him."

"You go ahead, I'll be right up."

"Is there something wrong?"

"Maybe."

"Quarter?" He brought his fieldcomm up again.

"Yes, Commander," replied the light English accent of his second Bolo.

"Get me General Rokoyan, or whoever is in charge at Blackstone."

"Contacting . . ."

"Call me back when you have someone."

"Affirmative."

Colonel Ishida closed his fieldcomm and relaxed in his chair. He really shouldn't become involved in this situation, but he feared that no one else on the planet was going to confront these people with the cold reality of frontier security procedures. Toman sympathized with Rokoyan, however. The decision to fire would be hard for anyone except a battle-hardened veteran. Rokoyan probably never killed anyone in his life, and the first time was always the most difficult, especially when they weren't firing back.

* * *

Kaethan entered the lobby just as Serina was exiting the elevator. Her face lit up with a smile as she saw him, but something was obviously troubling her. Serina's hug was light and quick, with her wet hair only getting his pale green shirt damp on the shoulder.

"What's wrong, Serina? Did father get called away again?"

It seemed like a good guess to Kaethan.

"No, he's downstairs," she glanced back at the elevator, "but something is wrong. He's been on the phone constantly talking to his Bolos. Do you know of anything going on?"

Kaethan shook his head. "No." He shrugged. "Angelrath has the sector on alert, but that's usual after another one of those probes is caught sneaking around."

The alerts never caused any concerns with the DDF formations. Only the planetary defenses at Blackstone Ridge ever cared much about them. At no time in Delassian history had the DDF ever "really" been on alert.

"Did father meet Kuro?" Kaethan changed the subject.

"Oh, sure. He didn't swim with her, though. Maybe you both can tomorrow."

"Well," Kaethan's voice took an edge to it, "I found out this morning that I certainly have the time for it."

Serina smiled, but before she could say anything the elevator doors slid open and their father walked out. The colonel did indeed look nervous, but Kaethan could see no difference to how he usually looked when the two were together. His smile, as always, seemed forced.

"Hi, Son," he said as he approached and extended his hand. "Captain," he then corrected.

"Hi, Father," Kaethan replied simply and they shook hands briefly. The thought of kidding his father about still being a colonel crossed his mind, but was instantly rejected for obvious reasons. He had been planning a witty remark about coming to the institute to recruit marine mammals, but suddenly it didn't seem as witty as it had in the car.

The result, of course, was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

But it was just a moment before Serina jumped in.

"Are you two hungry?"

"Yes," they both said at the same time.

Their father's fieldcomm beeped suddenly, causing his hand to shoot for his belt in response. The colonel was suddenly embarrassed by this, however, and his face turned apologetic.

"Sorry, but something serious might be happening."

Serina and Kaethan both nodded, understanding, and let their father retreat a few steps from them.

"Who have you got?" they heard him say into his phone. Then, "Blessed mother . . . uh . . . what's happening now?"

Kaethan's interest peaked at this. Not only did it sound like something militarily important was occurring somewhere around Delas, but his father may have almost showed an unprecedented display of emotion. Either would be a first.

"Any ideas?" Serina asked him quietly.

"None."

His father was pacing now, listening intently. Kaethan and Serina waited patiently. A couple students came through the front doors at this time, but paid them little attention. But as the doors were closing, a sharp crack of distant thunder echoed through them into the lobby.

"I don't think that was lightning." Kaethan now started growing nervous.

Their father stopped in his tracks and peered outside the glass doors, though nothing but the parking lot could be seen.

"A warning shot?" The colonel growled, obviously not happy with the half-measure. "Any reaction?"

"Blackstone just fired their Hellbore," Kaethan enlightened his sister. "And if we heard that all the way down here, then that means that their target is already in the atmosphere, and nearby."

Their father had not returned to his pacing, instead he just stood there staring blankly outside, tapping his foot.

"Damn!" Their father yelled suddenly. It was the kind of exclamation that someone might sound if an opposing team just scored a last second touchdown to win a game. "Lock on and ask Blackstone for permission to fire!"

The target must have dropped below Blackstone's horizon, Kaethan surmised.

"What do you mean `nearby'?" Serina asked.

"Overhead, probably." Kaethan shook his head in dismay.

"I'm going to look outside," Serina said in a rush and ran outside.

Kaethan, however, much preferred to hear this conversation occurring, even though he was getting only one side of it. A ship must be entering the atmosphere with unknown credentials. Most likely it was on approach pattern to Reims, which often passed right over them. Aliens, perhaps? Smugglers? Pirates? His mind ran wild with the possibilities.

His father was silent for a long time, though Kaethan couldn't tell whether he was listening to anything. At one point, however, his father's focus shifted over to him and their eyes met. It was a strange moment, where Toman shook his head and rolled his eyes in exasperation. Kaethan felt oddly close to his father at that moment for some reason.

Then his sister barged back in.

"I saw something big," she announced. "A transport, I think. Looked like it was heading for Reims. Too many clouds to see it for long."

His father paid attention to that, but then suddenly turned away as someone must have been saying something again on his fieldcomm.

"Clean up an Isis and ready it," the colonel then said coldly. "Ask Blackstone for clearance."

Kaethan knew what an "Isis" was, and his stomach dropped. His father's Bolos were just ordered to ready a nuke for launch. He and his mother had often read the colonel's letters together, and he learned much of the current equipment and lingo from them. To "clean" it, he knew, meant to reconfigure it for reduced fallout. Even with that, however, Kaethan doubted that Blackstone Ridge would clear it. Unless things got desperate, there was no way that Delas would use a nuke within the atmosphere.

Serina now decided that this was a good time to sit down, and dropped down on a big chair that was nearby. Kaethan remained standing.

"Where's it heading?" Was his father's next question.

The colonel then started looking frantically around the lobby, searching for something that he was obviously not finding.

"Did—" His father cut short, stopping his search, "Yeah, I was expecting that. Battle Reflex Mode. Track it as best you can and keep trying to get hold of Rokoyan."

His father closed his fieldcomm with a crack of metal against metal.

"Are we being invaded?" Serina was first to speak.

"Looks like it, Serina," Toman said sadly, looking at his children. "Son, their transport is setting down somewhere between here and Reims. They just took out your arrays and will probably bring down everything else along with it. Best you mobilize your battalion and hit them as hard and as fast as possible. You can't let them dig in."

"Just one transport?" Kaethan wondered.

"Just one for now, but I certainly expect more."

"What about Chains and Quarter?"

"I can't deploy them yet." The colonel shook his head. "With only one turret defending this planet, I don't want my Bolos caught flatfooted in rough terrain when a warship squadron enters orbit."

"What should I do?" Serina asked helplessly from her chair.

Kaethan could see his father mentally shift gears as his expression softened. He feared his father would just say something comforting and unhelpful that Serina would hate. Instead, he gave Serina something to do.

"You should probably call Peter to get back here, and warn people what's going on. Tell everyone to stay off the highways as much as possible and stay home."

"I should get going." Kaethan announced then. "Will you be heading back up to Starveil?"

His father shook his head.

"No. I'll be staying where the action is. I need to see what we're up against."

Kaethan's DDF issue handphone chose that moment start squealing horribly. The captain fumbled to turn it off as Serina winced against the noise.

"That's my call. Wish me luck."

Before Kaethan could go, though, Serina jumped up from chair and caught him in a big hug. The captain returned it as best he could, then pulled away.

"Don't get hurt," Serina ordered as she let go.

"Good luck," his father told him.

Kaethan motioned a cursory salute to his father as he pushed open the doors into the hot, moist outside air. He half walked, half jogged to his vehicle, passing blissfully unaware students along the way. The captain had never led troops into actual combat before, of course, and countless questions hounded him now. Had he treated their exercises too much like a game before, he wondered? How would his battalion react now that it was real? Strangely enough, though, it was excitement, not fear, that was filling him. That was likely to change, Kaethan knew, once the shells started flying. But until then, this was the emotion that the captain wanted his troops to tap from him.

That and confidence, of course.

But with his father on the planet, he suddenly worried about the latter.

* * *

* * *

As Keertra had hoped, the Ad-akradai's vehemence against him had dissipated now that combat had begun. Getting Riffen's most loyal commander to trust him, though, would still be a great challenge.

"Indeed, Ad-akradai," Keertra replied gloriously. "And it fired at such range that I dare believe that it may be the only protection that this outpost maintains! Would it not shock our timid Council if we were to take this planet ourselves!"

"Split between our factions equally, of course."

"Of course, Irriessa," he said with as amused an expression as he could present. "The Council would accept nothing less."

For a moment, Keertra could see his rival's commander lose himself in the promise of such glory. His ice-blue eyes became unfocused, and his hood expanded to its full size. The blood vessels that branched out within bulged prominently with a noticeable pulse.

But then the commander's military experience returned in a flash. He suddenly looked at Keertra in defiance.

"We should not talk about these things before the battle is won, and our enemy lie dead at our feet." Irriessa scolded Keertra, and perhaps himself.

"You are right, Irriessa. They may yet surprise us. Will your warship captains now follow my commands?

"They will, Is-kaldai. We should begin immediately."

"I will give the order."

"Is-kaldai . . ." Irriessa delayed, for what he was about to say was difficult. "I was wrong to doubt Khoriss' mission. I listen to your orders now with greater respect."

"Thank you, Irriessa. I'm sure we will learn much from each other before this is over."

"Perhaps."

The communication channel closed as Irriessa shut his eyes in respect. Keertra sat back in his chair, relishing the victories that he was winning, on the planet and here also. If indeed these aliens were as weak as they seemed, then he might just have to expand his plans. Becoming Mor-verridai could be meaningless if the remaining Is-kaldai were to claim vast new tracts of alien territory and resources, without suffering disabling casualties in the process. It would be better, he mused, if these aliens were a bit tougher. Just enough to keep the remaining Is-kaldai occupied while he eliminated the entire royal family, and its lineage, back home.

This goal had been his obsession ever since the Council began serious discussions on attacking this world. Keertra had realized from the beginning that a war of this scale could not have a committee directing it. There must be an overall commander, and historically this was the Mor-verridai. Yet, this was not a possibility considering the depths that their ruling clan had fallen to. They had squandered all their riches, uncaring for centuries, while the Council methodically stripped them of their powers. Now they had become corrupt in their misery, so much so that even the Avocrahn, the fanatic warrior clan sworn to protect the Mor-verridai, were openly rebellious. And they were the key that Keertra hoped to exploit. Although he would lose a great deal in this raid, he believed that if his many surias struck swiftly and cleanly against the Mor-verridai, the Avocrahn would gladly swear loyalty to him at a time when the Kezdai needed a strong leader so desperately.

It was a goal that every day seemed nearer to his grasp. Soon, now, many operatives had to be put in motion. But he couldn't waste time planning for them yet, not until this assault was completed. Irriessa was correct. These aliens might yet have some blades hidden beneath their cloaks.

* * *

Ten nuclear-safe bunkers housed thirty Templars of the Alabaster Coast Heavy Armor, five bunkers on each side of what was called Armor Alley. Twenty-meter wide ramps led down to the three-inch thick steel doors that rose up out of the ground to seal the Templars inside. The doors could be lowered quickly when danger threatened, or just dropped if the base lost power. A large sign at the entrance of Armor Alley presented in large letters the full designation of this unit: Alabaster Coast Heavy Armor, Alabaster Guard, Telville Corps.

Fort Hilliard was home to the Alabaster Guard, which was comprised of several battalions and lesser formations, formed from the population south of Telville. To the east of Telville was Fort Riley and the Chandoine Guard. And to the north was Fort Owen and the Tigris Guard. Most city-states on Delas were organized this way, with all forts kept in competition with each other for honors, and therefore a bigger slice of the defense spending for the next year. It was just the kind of arrangement that you'd expect from a corporate run government, but in fact, Kaethan thought it was quite effective. Not only were the forts always striving for more honors, but a definite sense of regiment was inspired throughout the militias.

Of course, combined exercises were sometimes a problem.

The composition of the Alabaster Guard had not changed since Candlelith purchased the last of their antiquated 150-ton Saladin Medium Tanks four years ago. Their main strike arm now consisted of Kaethan's battalion of Templars, and three brigades of mechanized infantry in armed Haulers. Preceding them into combat were three recon companies driving armed Haulers and four weakly armored grav-cars. Twelve companies of various caliber artillery provided battalion and regimental level support to their formations. And protecting against air infiltration, and providing emergency anti-armor fire, were four TurboFalcon missile batteries and two ion-bolt defense towers that Telsteel Industries donated to the Telville Corps from their private stocks.

Templar One, Kaethan's tank, was in the first bunker, right side, of Armor Alley. The blast door was opened wide, so he didn't bother to enter through the small, security-conscious blockhouse on top. Instead, he just ran down the ramp and into the shelter. His driver, Sergeant Zen Pritchard, was climbing along the outside of the vehicle, checking the outer systems. And with the sudden flash of their spotlight, it was obvious that his gunner, Corporal Andrea Sellars, was on the inside doing her part.

The Metallicast Industries Templar Mark XI was not the latest, or greatest, in the Concordiat arsenal. It was cost effective, and low enough technology to be supportable by local industry. Its three hundred fifty tons of duralloy armor and weapons made it slow and unwieldy, and wasn't allowed on local roads because it would tear apart the pavement. The sixty-foot long railgun, stretching almost as far behind the tank as in front, threatened to topple the tank over if fired to the side while on the move. Stabilizing legs had to be extended to give them a steady platform for firing the weapon. And its four Rapier missiles were dangerously indiscriminate when they lost their assigned target and began their search program for a replacement.

That said, Kaethan adored the Templar.

As awkward as the railgun was, it lived up to its promise of being able to take a chunk out of any known armor, including the latest endurochrome plate on his father's Bolos. The entire weapons assembly was mounted on hydraulic jacks that could lift the railgun fourteen inches to fire over a rise, and then drop it down again. Its two ion-bolt point defense turrets were excellent in protecting the tank against infantry and missiles. But most of all, feeling the entire hulk rock as the railgun was fired gave Kaethan such an adrenaline rush that he'd never be satisfied with anything less.

"Permission to come onboard, Sergeant!" Kaethan yelled.

Zen grabbed onto the barrel of the forward ion-bolt turret as he turned his head. Although in regulation jungle camouflage trousers, his battalion assigned top was replaced by a white tee shirt with an advertisement for a local pub. Zen was usually better at protocol than this. Whatever the reason was for it, Kaethan really didn't care.

"Almost set, Captain," Zen said. "Are we going to bother rolling out?"

"This isn't a drill, Sergeant!" Kaethan told him as he leapt up to the first footing. "We've just been invaded."

The captain ignored Zen's startled glare and made his way over to his command hatch. Sergeant Pritchard was a very competent soldier when he wasn't suffering from a hangover from the prior night. He was thirty-nine years old, with saltwater-damaged light brown hair. The Guard was a serious commitment to him as supplemental income for his small fiberglass boat business. He never missed a muster, and had been fully certified in Templar maintenance. But Kaethan was sure that Zen never expected that he'd have to fight.

Kaethan's command compartment was cramped and simple. Large, touch sensitive, configurable control panels were in front and on both sides. Small boxes at the bottom of the main display showed a camera image of an empty driver's compartment, and Andrea working hard in the gunner's compartment under the turret.