Supplanted

The time for asking questions was over. In less than an hour after my meeting with our alien enemy soldier, the call to battle stations was sounded. The Faust formed up with the leading elements of the first wave of our attack force (a slight change in plan that was never fully explained to me). Alongside us were the Wild Man, the Gold Bug (a converted civilian ship carrying ground assault troops), the USS Courage, the Dauntless, the Red Dawn and, to my surprise and delight, the Defiant.

The carriers formed a wedge in front of the Gold Bug with the Wild Man on point and the Faust on the left flank. The order was given to attack a small green planet, about the size of Earth’s moon (for reference), that lay directly ahead of us in the Epsilon sector. This was the home world of our enemy.

Intelligence reports came into my ready room from sources I couldn’t possibly know about (even if I were more experienced as a commander). Detailed schematics of the planet’s supply and transport routes, industrial centers, mining operations, farms and fields, lakes, swamps and rivers, military bases and residential areas filled my tactical projection screens down to the minutest detail. We had been given a complete and detailed record of everything that we would or could encounter on the enemy world. We were assigned our targets by highlighted sections of the map; and, within moments, sped full rockets on a collision course with destiny.

The planet’s outer defenses were non-existent. Apparently, no one had bothered to warn our enemy that we were coming.5 A few carriers and bombers that were in orbit in our direct path were either unmanned or skeleton crewed. Our fighters were launched and made short work of them. We left their burned out, well perforated husks floating lifelessly in space or plummeting to the surface to their crash sites. We arrived unopposed to the planet’s upper atmosphere and began our re-entry descent.

The supply shuttles of the Faust were hurriedly filled to capacity with ground troops; my troops. We launched them as we entered the upper atmosphere. They were to land ahead of us and secure our landing zone and the surrounding area. I watched from my tactical ready room as they made their descent. With our fighters guarding them, they at least made it to the ground without incident.

Our surprise attack had come as a complete surprise to our enemy (as was intended, of course; yet, successful military operations are seldom so completely successful). We began to see ships launching from the planet’s surface and moving to engage us. Our fighters were upon them and eliminated them before they became a threat. I witnessed a few awkward dogfights, but overall, our fighters performed admirably in atmospheric assault.

Several of their fighters slipped through our fighter screen and managed to fire on us; something else they had never done before as projectile weaponry was not known to be part of their fighter makeup. They were quickly dispatched; our fully manned and heavily armed carriers were more than a match for them. It seemed that our enemy was still employing untrained or under-prepared pilots, and even the fighter pilots that they had were few and far between. The Faust took little to no damage as it fired its retro-rockets to slow its final approach to our target landing site.

Our target landing zone was an enemy military base. The carriers that were stationed there were all in flames and tangles of wreckage when we arrived. The Faust was the first of our ships to land. We were followed by the Gold Bug, flanked on its opposite side by the Defiant, while the Courage and Red Dawn protected us from above. The Dauntless was busy engaging some stiffer resistance on our left flank (or, west as we were oriented by the planet’s poles). The Wild Man remained in orbit to await reinforcements and to keep stray enemy carriers off all of our collective backs, while also serving as a refueling and rearming dock for the many fighters now engaged in decimating the planet’s surface.

The choice of the Gold Bug as a troop transport was a very good one. Carriers land in an upright position, much like rockets, and do not carry many more troops than the fighter pilots, shuttle pilots, gunners and operational crewmen assigned to them.

The Gold Bug was a converted civilian space yacht almost two hundred feet long. It was composed of seven decks. The lowest two decks, I was to find out, had been gutted to house assault vehicles for the troops it carried packed on top of each other in the above decks. Once on the ground, several post-production installed hatches opened around the hull to act as ramps for the dozens of four wheelers, trucks and modified armored artillery vehicles that came pouring out of it. My unit had a much different means of disembarkation.

While the troops of the Gold Bug had a relatively easy disembarking, the Rough Riders still aboard (that hadn’t landed in shuttles) had to form up at the escape hatches located near the bottom of the carrier and wait their turns to exit. Since there is no discernable gravity in space, carriers are built with many decks stacked from bottom to top like an upright loaf of sliced bread. A three hundred foot tall carrier may have as many as thirty decks. Most of the decks serve as access ports to the fighters and shuttles placed around the hull that are in turn attached to the ship in close proximity to their pilot’s quarters. Decks located in between fighters and their pilots housed gunners and the carrier’s flight crews, which makes carriers more like skyscrapers than spaceships.

The bulk of my troops were now dropping out of the bottom of the Faust by sliding down the emergency exit slides and tubes, also retro-fitted, that now spilled out from the lower decks. The scene looked almost like a giant bottle that had been punctured with many holes near its bottom so that the liquid contents poured out all around it. Some of my troops even used the standard ladders and elevators that came out of the ship’s bottom; although this was slow going and inefficient for an invasion force. All things considered, my unit completely evacuated the Faust and took up their positions in less than a quarter of an hour. That is pretty impressive for some six hundred men (men whose average age happened to be fourteen) and their weapons.

I feel that I should clarify (or perhaps remind my possible future readers) that carriers are usually boarded and evacuated by shuttle. I myself have never had to use any of the gravity-centric exits and entrances (such as ladders and lifts) to board the many carriers that I have served on or visited. Those methods were usually reserved for the launch crews.

The Rough Riders moved to secure the landing zone while the troops from the Gold Bug6 spread out to destroy the surrounding area, and I do mean destroy. Their chief weapon of choice was the flame thrower; it proved to be very effective against our plant based enemy. Nothing was left standing in their path. Since my ready room had no windows, I relied on the tactical projections to keep me up to date on the progress of the battle.

From what I saw, several million enemy troops7 covered the planet as well as manning some two thousand carriers and other crafts in space with varying levels of crews. Our second wave was having great success against the carriers in space. They didn’t seem to know how to wage a defensive war; I found that ironic.

As the enemy troops fought in disarray, our second wave of troop carriers landed on different areas of the planet that had been secured by the Wild Man, Courage, Dauntless and Red Dawn, whose defensive positions above us had been taken up by other ships. General Josten’s plan to divide and conquer this world was working to perfection. Several more carriers landed planet side to make more troop landing zones. The fiercest fighting was going on at the area designated on my map as the “Creation Factories” a mere two miles from our landing position.

The Creation Factories area was where human scientists created, bred and/or grew our enemy. (I’m not sure which term is most appropriate.) It was defended by human soldiers as well as aliens. Our assault troops had been primarily armed with flame throwers and shotguns with salt cartridges. The artillery that we had brought also fired modified explosive rounds with salt shrapnel. Apparently, no one on our side had thought that we would be fighting our own kind, so the means to kill human enemies were not at our troop’s disposal. That was to change.

As I understand it, it was First Sergeant Renaldo Gutierrez of the Freedom Fighters stationed aboard the General’s own command carrier who struck on the idea of using the enemy carriers and other such debris in orbit as aerial bombs. This was made possible by attaching tow cables to disabled or just plain empty enemy ships and directing them planet side to fall on their respective targets. Also, regular projectile weapons made their way to the front lines to combat the human enemies that we were encountering there. Many smaller battles now took precedence, since the main invasion had been labeled a success.

It seems to me to be a very “clean” way to observe a battle when it is done by holographic tactical display; and by clean I mean sterile in an unemotional sense. There was no blood. There were no cries of terror or anguish or anger. There was no sympathetic connection of any kind to the troops on either side. All there was were colored lights on a screen that symbolized individual humans and enemies. As those lights were extinguished from the board, it simply meant that a death had occurred; another dot less that meant nothing more than a tactical event.

There was no time to mourn or to feel. No place to sit alone and digest the events, or to cry. There were only the flickering dots, and now there were more of our dots on the board than theirs8.

I felt little to no satisfaction. I would have time later to delve into the reasons for my lack of emotion. We were winning. Our enemy was dying by the thousands, by the millions. Soon, only one familiar area of resistance remained. I made a command decision.

“I’m going out there.”

The protestations of 2lt Madrid and Capt. Stovall fell upon my deaf ears. I was going to witness the battle first hand. I had to; I can’t explain why.

A spare hovercraft was put at my disposal at the base of the Faust. I exited by elevator with four armed guards. It was an experience I will never forget, or understand (such caution for unknown reasons in a secured area); but I was not to be denied my personal, though inexplicable, need to see for myself what was happening.

The first sensation that I experienced once I got outside was the stench. The smell of burnt spinach, or jelly, or hair mixed with burning wood, metal and plastic permeated the air and hit my nostrils hard as the elevator doors opened. Black clouds of toxic smoke billowed up from the smoldering carriers and the remains of buildings around us, and the bodies of our enemy littered the landscape, interspersed with a few of my own men who didn’t make it. I was gratefully issued a gas mask; I put it on quickly, but not quickly enough to avoid the imprint of that smell on my olfactory memory forever.

The second sensation that made itself know to me after masking the odor was the oppressive humidity. I no longer wondered why our enemy had been configured of plant, sea creature and insect parts, only that combination of creatures could flourish in such an environment.

The site of the last resistance was still two miles from our landing zone. We made our way past the Gold Bug, then past the Defiant toward the eastern horizon. I made a mental note that it seemed to me that very few troops had joined the battle from the Defiant. Also, several of the Defiant’s fighters had landed here and were being reattached to the carrier. I was strangely worried, but I had other more pressing issues to worry about.

We drove past the burning and flattened husks of an enemy town. It looked very much like any other town on any other human colonial planet, with a few exceptional differences. The carnage passed by me at top speed. I wanted to witness the final battle as soon as possible. Surveying the damage would have to wait.

As we approached the final battle site, I saw what was later related to me as the Wild Man launching back into orbit. I had seen many carriers launch into space. I would see many more. This one instance, in the midst of the wreckage of an alien world, would stand alone, impressed in my memory. I can’t say why.

The sounds of the battle began to reach my ears. Explosions and small arms fire grew louder with each passing second. I was soon able to make out the individual tracer rounds that shot from our side to theirs, and the return fire from their positions to ours. The final approach to the final battle landed me at the rear observation platform conveniently set up on a nearby hill that overlooked the entire scene. There I met Colonel Tom Tucker once more. He had been attached to my unit as my second in command. I don’t think that I’ve mentioned that before.

“Colonel Tucker,” I called. “What is the situation?”

The Colonel was very surprised to see me. “Colonel Johansson!? What, I mean, why . . . Shouldn’t you be back in your ready room monitoring the battle?”

“I’ve decided that I can be of more use out here, Colonel,” I chided him. “So, I repeat, what is the situation?” Colonel Tucker grabbed a video map from the nearest aide and held it out to me.

The map showed the three dimensional rendering of the Creation Factory that lay before us. It was a four story building almost a mile long and a hundred yards wide. It was built in the middle of a series of out buildings that lined three oval streets that circled the entire complex. Several connecting walkways, pipe tunnels, enclosed bridges and the like made an asymmetrical web-like formation throughout the diagram. From the data that I glanced over, the enemy and its human progenitors had retreated into the main building and were putting up a successful defense from our efforts to dislodge them both from the ground and from the air.

“How is it that we have been unable to attack from the air?” I asked.

The Colonel hesitated a moment. “We’re not sure. The complex is guarded by some form of energy field that we’ve never encountered before. All bombardments from above have either been deflected or destroyed in flight.

“The shield seems to be generated from the roof of the building, as attacks on the lowest level have resulted in damage. However, the lowest level is tremendously reinforced with concrete and steel to the point where even our heaviest cannons and high explosive rounds barely scratch the surface. Also, the shield seems to come to within six feet of the ground surrounding the building. All attempts to attack from the ground have been repulsed by the defenders stationed on the second and third floors who are very good shots.”

He ended with, “Any thoughts, sir?”

I didn’t appreciate being put on the spot like that, but something had occurred to me the moment he’d said it. “Attack from below,” I said as I handed the video map back to him.

He had what I can only describe as a self satisfied smirk on his face. “We’ve tried that, sir. I’ve already told you that their defenders on the second and third floors . . .”

I wouldn’t let him finish. “Cannot shoot under the ground, Colonel. Attack from below means dig under their defenses and come up behind them. Your digital readout shows a series of subterranean access ways to the building. I suggest you find them and use them, or dig your own.” Now I had the self satisfied smirk on my face. I must admit that I felt good showing up a fellow Colonel that way. I promised myself that it would never happen again; it was too Eric Josten for me.

“I must admit,” Colonel Tucker began, “that is a good idea. I’m surprised that I and my staff haven’t thought of it sooner. Sergeant Buchman!” The stocky form of the Colonel’s new First Sergeant, Gail Buchman, came quickly over.

“Sir!” the First Sergeant snapped to attention.

“Have a detachment begin digging for tunnels that lead to that building, Sergeant. If you can’t find any, dig some yourself.”

“Yes, sir!” the enthusiastic non-com shouted over the melee of battle. She immediately turned on her heel and was out of sight and running to round up a detachment before I could give her any orders myself.

“Colonel,” I said in a friendlier manner. “Could we cease fire while this new operation gets underway? If not for the sakes of our own hearing, then to put a stop to the obvious waste of ammunition.” I got an agreeing nod from the seasoned veteran (a veteran who was barely two years my senior).

“Cease fire!” was ordered all around the attack zone. An eerie silence ensued. Night was also minutes away, and falling fast on this small planet. The combination of twilight and silence over the battlefield cast a pall over my heart. I was suddenly able to think clearly inside my gas mask without the noise and the stench. I felt sick. I wondered if this world had any unfriendly night flyers on it. I felt sicker.

Entry 12a

The final battle

The alien night passed with a great deal of anxiety on our side of the skirmish line. Strange night creatures made strange night noises that mixed unpleasantly with the sounds of digging, cursing and the occasional small arms fire. The hastening of the much earlier than we were accustomed to dawn was greeted with not much greater relief. At least the fires that burned around us seemed to discourage whatever crawled or flew in the night. Perhaps even the stench had a hand in that.

The alien sun rose upon a scene in which our forces stood poised to make the final assault on the final stronghold of the enemy. Nine access tunnels had either been newly dug or opened up from above. The largest of the tunnels to the main complex would allow four wheelers to lead the charge down it. Most of the others were little more than crawl spaces filled with pipelines and wires. None of these access ways seemed to be guarded or monitored – a stroke of luck for us.

I was given the honor of sounding the attack. My strategy was to fire as many cannons and other weapons at the lower level beneath the shield in order to cover our subterranean infiltration and make it appear that we were trying to level the building by demolishing the ground floor. On my order, at dawn, hundreds of weapon reports made a deafening noise in the alien morning. After the first shot, the tunnel assault began. It would be several hours before anyone outside would know the outcome of the battle, yet the progress would be made evident soon enough.

I watched from my vantage point as several heavy artillery pieces fired multiple rounds into the apparently impregnable ground floor superstructure. I saw how little damage each shell made. I wondered if the protection that these walls afforded our enemy would benefit the troops that I was blindly sending into the fray.

I watched the last of my troops scurry into the holes in the ground on our side of the shield. The wider tunnel that would accommodate the four-wheelers was at the far end of the facility and out of my direct line of sight; it was shown on our tactical maps, but I didn’t want one of those in my hands at that moment. I’d had enough of watching nameless, faceless, lifeless dots on a screen blink off in my emotionless war room.

I couldn’t help but say a prayer for the men, women, and children that I had probably just sent to their deaths. My mind went blank. All I could manage was a silent, heartfelt, “God help us.” It didn’t make me feel any better.

Colonel Tucker interrupted my silent vigil.

“A penny for your thoughts,” he yelled at me above the din of battle.

“A what?” I blurted out. I think he had just used an ancient Earth cliché, but I wasn’t absolutely sure that that’s what it was, or what it meant.

“Never mind,” the Colonel shouted as he turned his attention to the barrage. “You’re probably thinking the same thing that I am.”

“And what would that be?” I asked.

“God help us,” he said. I admitted to him that he was right.

It didn’t take long for the battle inside the building to make itself know to the spectators outside. Windows began to shatter from munitions fire from the interior. I watched several human bodies fall from the second, and later the third floor windows. I rightly assumed that this meant that our troops had succeeded in gaining those two floors, but I wasn’t certain that all the bodies that I saw were enemies or our own unfortunate comrades. The outside troops were told to cease fire as we all anxiously stared at the huge building waiting for signs of how the battle was going within its closed spaces.

By mid-day the battle was at a critical juncture. We had taken the bottom three floors; yet, stiff resistance still kept the fourth floor, and the apparent source of the shield, out of our clutches. After another hour of fruitless fighting, I struck upon an idea.

“Colonel,” I began. “How do you suppose that this shield is being powered?”

Tom Tucker thought for a moment. “By some power source either inside the building, or in close proximity to it.” He also had caught on to my train of thought. “If we can locate the source of the shield’s power, we can cut it off.”

“And end this war,” I concluded for him.

Colonel Tucker had all of his subordinate officers and non-coms on the case before I could take another breath. It took another hour, but an educated guess located some heavily insulated power cables that led from the ground floor and an unknown source, up to the fourth floor. It took an additional hour to cut the cables. Once cut, the shield fell.

“Sergeant!” Col. Tucker bellowed. A Staff Sergeant unknown to me snapped to attention with a very military, “Yes sir!”

“Fire that artillery piece at the fourth floor.” The soldier complied and a gaping hole was made in the once pristine top floor of the building. Before an all out assault could be ordered, I had to put an end to it.

“Colonel, before you give the order to destroy the building, I would like to give the few remaining members of our enemy the opportunity to surrender.” The seasoned veteran gave me a look of complete bewilderment.

“You want to do what?” he asked in a noticeably higher pitched voice than I was used to hearing from him.

“I want to announce to the human survivors that we will accept their unconditional surrender.” I clarified. A tense moment stretched out as the Colonel pondered the possibility that I was either serious or seriously out of my mind. The waiting troops were also getting anxious to attack and end this strange war. After what felt like another hour, the Colonel had decided that he would bow to the whims of his commanding officer, and said as much to me as he stepped aside and had another subordinate hand me a bullhorn.

I tested the device by blowing into it. It made a loud wind noise and a piercing whine. I addressed the silent, smoldering building.

“Attention enemy defenders of the Creation Factory. This is Colonel James Johansson; commander of the Wilson’s World Rough Riders. Your battle is over. Your shield is down. Your defenses are breached. You have no hope of reinforcement or rescue. Throw down your weapons and surrender. You will be taken into protective custody and not be harmed. I give you my word as a Colonel and as commander of the Wilson’s World Rough Riders. You have one minute to respond before I order your complete destruction.”

There was a pregnant pause. Then a white flag waved from the rooftop. A cheer of victory rose from my assembled army. The war was over.