Trial by Fire - eARC (62 page)

“We shall soon defeat the humans’ electronic warfare efforts. However, Tuxae Skhaas aboard the flagship
Greatvein
points out that for the next several minutes, with all the human chaff and image-makers that are still operating, our sensors are still badly cluttered with false images. We could overlook genuine targets.”

“We know this well. We also retain sufficient means to deal with any especially ominous aerial attacks. Why does the
Greatvein
’s master sing so repetitive a refrain?”

“Hu’urs Khraam, this report was not sent at the behest of Fleetmaster R’sudkaat. It is relayed by Sensor Coordinator Tuxae Skhaas on his own initiative. And he is not worried about what we are seeing, but what we are
not
seeing. Specifically, he is concerned that we have seen no activity involving the human submarines.”

“And why would we?” The First Delegate flexed his claws testily. “For hundreds of kilometers in every direction, we seeded the depths of these waters with station-keeping marine sensors.”

“True, Esteemed Hu’urs Khraam, but there has been increasing question regarding their reliability.”

“I have read these speculations and can find no reason to give them credence. Do you really think that the humans could send individual divers out to so many separate units and disable them?”

“Not disable them, Hu’urs Khraam, but rewire a select number of them to continuously report ‘all clear.’”

“And how would they begin to know how to rewire our systems?”

“We did lose several of the sensors in the first week of our operations.”

“Yes, we were bound to have some defective units. They were an entirely new technology for an entirely new domain of warfare.”

“What if they were not defective? What if we lost them because the humans isolated, deactivated, and then examined those sensors with the intent of learning how to electronically trick them. And they need not trick many sensors. Only those few monitoring the areas that they planned on using for submarine infiltration.”

First Voice waggled his neck. “The humans have not built any new submarines in almost thirty years. Most are old and hard to maintain. Had they been deemed a threat, we could have brought our own submarines as a counterforce.”

Darzhee looked away.
Yes, you could have brought along a handful of your pitiable Hkh’Rkh submarines. And the humans would have cheerfully sunk them.

Urzueth Ragh was not done. “It is just as you say, First Voice, but this
would
be the logical time for human submarines to enter the battle. Our look-down sensors are overtaxed, the others are confused by false signals, and our local PDF capabilities are significantly degraded.”

“And so what would the submarines do?” First Delegate Hu’urs Khraam wondered mildly. “Torpedo the docks?”

“Esteemed Hu’urs Khraam, most of the submarines that the humans retained were what they call ‘boomers’: deep submersibles which carry nuclear missiles.”

Hu’urs Khraam settled back and his antenna switched in wry amusement. “Urzueth Ragh, is this Tuxae Skhaas’ worry? Has he forgotten that this is precisely why we occupy the largest cities on this island? What does he expect that the humans will do? Destroy millions of their own population? Even they are not so savage.”

Darzhee Kut glanced at Caine—who was already staring at him. The human did not look away, did not smile, did not blink.
But surely,
thought Darzhee Kut,
Hu’urs Khraam is right. Surely the humans—who are now capable of extraordinary insight and compassion and sacrifice—are not still capable of such savagery…

Chapter Forty-Two

Over the Sunda Strait, approaching West Java, Earth

Only two VTOLs left, and not for long,
conjectured Thandla. The lasers had picked off all but Dortmund’s craft and that of his right wingman, Michael Schrage.

“Fifteen more seconds,” Dortmund called out.

Which was probably not possible, Thandla realized, and in so realizing, discovered he was probably thinking his last mortal thoughts. The Arat Kur were poking huge holes in the overlapping image makers, rapidly discriminating between false signals and real returns, destroying the drones either by orbital interdict or now, long-range missiles from the enemy’s Java-based combat air patrols, which were waiting for them over the island’s western coastline.

But Thandla still had a few tricks left that might help them reach that crucial fifteen-second mark. And if he—

Praeger, the back-seat EW and countermeasures operator, spoke for the first time during the mission. “We are painted!” The VTOL’s own sensors had detected a low-power laser contact. It was an orbital targeting beam that also plasmated the atmosphere, clearing a path for the actual weapon-grade laser.

So,
thought Thandla, as he played his last hand of trick electronic cards,
we don’t have fifteen seconds left after all. But I shall not fear on the threshold of Nirvana. We do not sacrifice and live for ourselves alone. The final step is to renounce ego, self.
He had often seen the faces of his family in the last twenty minutes. Now, unbidden, he saw the faces of the delegation he had accompanied to the Convocation: Riordan, the Corcorans, Ben Hwang, Opal Patrone, and Lemuel Wasserman. Lemuel, who had insulted him, snubbed him, argued with him, and loved him. And had not understood him and probably never would have. There were too many cultural divides for him to bridge before he could have understood the very different reality that Thandla inhabited.

Sanjay was watching for the flicker of a targeting lock that would signal the microsecond before his death, but was instead startled by Dortmund’s shout. “Schrage!
Was machst
—?”

The right wingman had pulled his VTOL up and over, angling into a position just above Dortmund’s craft. He had almost straightened out from his brief banking maneuver when Thandla blinked involuntarily against a single strobelike pulse. Schrage’s VTOL transformed into a spearhead of flame. Light debris spattered down and scored their own fuselage, put a hairline crack in the cockpit blister. But they were still alive and Thandla was still working—

Dortmund counted out the mounting seconds. “Twelve, thirteen—”

Thandla played his last card—which was a simple randomized shift between all the strategies he had employed to date. It would be penetrated in a second or two, at the most, but the Arat Kur machines, being driven by pattern-loving expert systems, would spend several precious seconds trying to reconcile this anomalous pattern with what had come before—

“Fourteen, fifteen—”

And it was done. Even now, secret orders were being transmitted to ears listening beneath the waves. The final part of the trap was closing upon the Arat Kur and their Hkh’Rkh allies.

Dortmund was jubilant. “Mission plus two, three—!”

Four was an important number for Sanjay Thandla. He was four when he came to understand exponents by understanding that two was the square root of four. He had four children, had earned four degrees, and had slept with four women, including his wife. So when a brief flash of light coincided with Dortmund’s counting off of the number “four,” Thandla would not have thought it an odd coincidence, but a sign of order in the universe, that patterns repeated and life progressed in cycles, and that nothing was ever, ever lost, but came back again in all its quiet glory.

When hit, Dortmund’s VTOL had reached the edge of the tidal shelf off the northwest coast of Java, and so only went down in forty meters of water. There, years later, its remains were recovered, but without imparting any greater sense of the identity or sacrifice of its crew. The fish, as agents of Nirvana, had carried away and reintegrated every trace of Praeger, Dortmund, and Sanjay Thandla.

Who had, at last, reentered the great mandalla of creation, had become one with the entity that was Earth.

Again.

Mobile Command Center “Trojan Ghost One,” over the Indian Ocean, Earth

“Mr. Downing, we have achieved operational density of image makers, decoys, and chaff. We are good to go.”

Richard leaned back from the Dornaani holosphere, which dominated the passenger section of the high-speed armored VTOL that had been modified to accept the alien technology. “Very well, Mr. Rinehart. Send the word. All orbit-capable and long-range ground rockets are to launch immediately. Maritime launches are to commence two minutes later.”

Alnduul had come to stand beside Downing. “Do you need our assistance?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I offer our assistance in penetrating the Arat Kur signal jamming. If we do not help in that matter, how will your first two submarines know it is time to act?”

“Acoustic signaling.”

“Please explain.”

“You know how easily sound travels in water? How ocean sensors can hear whale songs around the world?”

Alnduul nodded.

“Well, it’s a lot easier to hear metal rods banging together. What we use is a lot more sophisticated, but it’s the same principle. The water itself is our communication medium. You might say we’re banging rods in code for all our submerged ears to hear. Particularly those two.”

“I see. And when will they receive the message?”

Downing checked his watch. “Right about now.”

SSBN
Ohio
, Java Sea, Earth

“Captain Tigner?”

“What is it Mr. Alvarez?”

“Acoustic signal, ma’am. Nothing fancy, in the clear: we are a go.”

Captain Mary Sue Tigner turned to her helmsman. “Mr. Vinh.”

“Ma’am?”

“Release magnetic grapples and give us five meters clearance from the wreck.”

“Grapples released, and that’s a half turn of the fans. Ready, ma’am.”

“Rise to maximum launch depth. ETA?”

“Estimating nine minutes, Captain.”

“Very good. Mr. Alvarez.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Confirm that
Minsk
received signal that she is cleared to begin her ascent.”

“Captain Poliakhov has just contacted us to confirm our receipt of signal, and requests reconfirmation of his launch depth instructions, ma’am.”

As he should.
“Tell Alexei he is to rise to fifty meters, as indicated in his sealed orders. And wish him good luck.”
He’ll need it, playing canary in a coal mine. But how else are we going to learn how far down and how quickly the Arat Kur can see and hit us in the ocean?

The alert lights began flashing and the general quarters klaxon kicked into life. Tigner gave a quick pat to the side of the
Ohio
’s periscope as she folded out the handles.
Here we go, old girl. It’s show time.

Wholenest flagship
Greatvein
, Earth orbit

Tuxae saw the thermal blooms first on his own system, then a moment later, the active sensor verifications started pouring in from the various hulls in orbit. He considered the data carefully, then studied H’toor Qooiiz’s console with equal care.

“Tuxae, why do you not act?”

“I will. Reopen a channel to Jakarta.”

“But it is insolence to bypass Fleetmaster R’sudkaat—”

“It is necessary that everyone who must hear this dirge hears it directly.”

H’toor Qooiiz looked at him, then complied.

The Fleetmaster was already on the way over. “You have seen it?”

“Yes.” Tuxae was very calm. “I offer my report and recommendation.”

“Very good.” But that response was not from the Fleetmaster. It was Hu’urs Khraam’s voice, emerging from H’toor Qooiiz’s communications console. Fleetmaster R’sudkaat’s mandibles crunched once and were then silent. Tuxae realized that his future was less promising after going above his direct superior in issuing the report, but then again, that presumed any of them were going to
have
a future—

“Report,” urged Hu’urs Khraam’s voice.

Tuxae took a deep breath. “Orbital sensors are reading multiple ballistic missile launches from around the globe. These are almost all ground sites: silos, in the case of the farther continents, or fixed ramp or mobile launches of smaller rocket and cruise missiles throughout the Pacific Rim.”

“How many targets do you count?”

“At least seven hundred and the number is climbing. But the margin of error is still unacceptably high. Our sensor reliability is not yet absolute. We are only now destroying the humans’ electronic warfare drones in appreciable numbers. Those which remain make it impossible to trust our active arrays. We are still compelled to rely upon imprecise thermal and optical detection.”

“Then you must quickly finish destroying the drones.”

Now came the hard part, the part that no one was going to enjoy hearing, and about which H’toor Qooiiz was likely to write a very sad song. “If we shift enough of our orbital intercept fire to swiftly eliminate the remaining drones, then we will not be able to intercept all of these new rockets. Some are moving very fast. And I must remind you that the general launch of manned air vehicles continues from Sumatra, Bali, Christmas Island and the near Celebes.”

“And all the new threats, the rockets, are converging on Java?”

“Most,” Tuxae corrected. “The rocket launches from North America and Europe are on—uncertain vectors.”

“Uncertain? In what way?”

“We cannot tell from their current trajectories whether they will ultimately insert to orbit or strike Indonesia.”

“To orbit?” R’sudkaat broke in. “Are they attacking my ships?”

“No, Esteemed Fleetmaster. That does not seem to be their intent, nor do the rockets being used have sufficient thrust or endurance to be intended as intercept vehicles.”

“Then what is their purpose?”

“The humans might be simply testing our continued ability to interdict ground targets in Europe and North America. Or they might be launching drones to hunt our ships here in orbit. Or they might be sending nuclear weapons over Java to detonate in a high airburst mode.”

“That would generate a far stronger EM pulse than any we have used thus far,” supplied Fleetmaster R’sudkaat.

“Just so. And if the statistics on these dated rockets and their warheads are correct, we will experience considerable degradation of our groundside electronics. Most notably, many more of our PDF arrays will be destroyed, unless they are powered down during the strikes.”