The New Threat 25 (Patreon)

Chapter 25

Subject: Staff Sergeant Power

Species: Human

Description: Mammalian humanoid, no tail. 6'2" (1.87 m) avg height. 185 lbs (84 kg) avg weight. 170 year life expectancy.

Ship: N/A

Location: Sol

"Why weren't we using warp prevention to begin with?" I demanded.

"Because you organics have a terrible habit of making your toys so damned grandiose that it makes it impossible to effectively run things without consuming vast amounts of resources," Omega replied. "Sending a jamming signal into warp is energy intensive, and we had no way of knowing when the Omni-Union would attack. It costs far less reactor fuel to keep MACs charged than it does to keep the warp disruptors running."

"Omega's right," Director 4 added. "We believed it to be likely that the OU may attack Sol, but it was far more energy efficient to counter-attack than it would have been to try to prevent the attack. We also aren't certain that the warp disruptors will work on Mobile Prime Platforms."

"Why not?" I asked.

"They're big enough that they might be able to simply shrug off the damage that warp disruptors cause to mass trying to reenter real-space. It would have been a massive waste of fuel to have the warp disruptors running and have them be ineffective."

"Yeah? Well we ain't so much worried about the MPPs right now, are we?" Jason asked as he walked up.

The man with the bullhorn and old fashioned camo outfit turned out to be named Jason Jones. When the OU started touching down, we'd quickly diffused our disagreements and joined forces. Things were still somewhat tense because of the bodies we'd dropped, but it is what it is. Jason's ultimate goal is to get his people evacuated, and Omega was quick to promise an evac in exchange for keeping the director safe during this invasion.

"I suppose not," Director 4 said hesitantly.

"How's the prep going?" I asked.

The bunker was professionally made, and had a reinforced tunnel for its entrance. It was fully stocked for a staff of over one hundred people for more than two months, so we wouldn't have to be worrying about food or water. I wondered why a city hall would be at this level of preparation, and Omega had glibly reminded me. I had forgotten most of the Earth History I'd learned in High School, but after Omega's brief refresher course, I feel like the city of Adelaide may be under-prepped.

"We've got a squad supporting the APC out front, and clear firing lines in the tunnel. There's heaps of ammo, and we've passed out all we can carry and stored the rest in the bunker. Your man Johnson did a tally of the supplies and says things are good," Jason said. "No coldie's, but we've got water and brekky. That'll have to do."

"What kind of anti-armor did you bring?"

"None, weren't expecting cans like yours. Figured you'd be landing at the spaceport and driving up, so we brought shredder strips, but you fully surprised us with your sudden appearance."

Shredder strips are used to destroy the tires of most vehicles. Sharp steel barbs arranged in such a way to grab and tear when you drive over them. Absolutely devastating to inflatables, but also useful against airless tires. Probably not as useful against tank tread, though.

"How far away is the base that you got your gear from?"

Jason laughed at the question, "Six or seven hours, mate. It's between us and the Melbourne Exclusion Zone, but closer to the exclusion zone."

"Damn," I swore, then switched off my speakers. "Omega? If we use the shuttle, how long would it take?"

"If he's talking about Ballarat Barracks, about an hour and a half round trip," Omega said.

"An hour and a half?" I asked incredulously.

"It would have to be a low altitude flight, which will limit how fast we can go. Any ships that go too high are going to get shot out of the sky. Nothing can be allowed to leave the system while the OU are here."

I looked at Jason and was thankful that he couldn't hear Omega. As an undoc, he's already pretty disillusioned with the United Systems. Pointing out the fact that the US is willing to kill fleeing civilians would just add fuel to that fire. Probably wouldn't even matter that one ship of fleeing civilians could doom an entire system.

"Sergeant Smith," I said over comms.

"Yes, staffsarnt?"

"Grab Corporal Simmons and take the shuttle to Ballarat Barracks. Omega will guide you there and back. I need you two to grab any and all infantry-portable anti-armor you can find, and get back here on the double. I'm giving you thirty minutes on the ground. Once the thirty are up, you need to be heading back here."

"Roger that. Movin' out."

Smith and Simmons should be able to get plenty of anti-armor ordinance in thirty minutes, assuming there's any left. Forty-five minutes to get there, thirty minutes for shopping, forty-five minutes to get back. Two of my guardian suits gone for two hours. That's probably going to sting, but I've done more with less.

I turned back to Jason and he raised an eyebrow at me. It took me a moment to realize that he hadn't heard anything I'd been saying because of the soundproofing of the R9. He had just seen me standing here looking like I'm talking to someone. I fought the urge to chuckle at that mental image.

"I'm sending two of mine to do some shopping," I explained. "It's Ballarat Barracks that they need to go to, right?"

"Yep," he replied. "Want some of mine to go with?"

"No need. With these suits, my men can outpace and outlift yours by a very wide margin," I said.

"My men got guardian suits too, mate."

"Not like these ones, and none of you are gen-alts," I shook my head. "There's also the matter of trust. I don't know you or your men, and the only things keeping us from each other's throats is the threat of the OU and Omega's bargain. You'll forgive me for doubting that you and your men completely trust Omega's word."

Jason laughed, "Fair enough. You think the bot's telling the truth? It can get us out of here?"

"I've got no reason to doubt it," I diplomatically replied.

"What if it's overruled by an admiral or somethin', though?"

"I'd like to see them try," Omega's distinctive voice said through my suit's speakers. "They will be an ensign again before they finish giving the order. Your people WILL be evacuated once the OU threat has been eliminated."

"How long's that gonna be, ya figure?" Jason asked, unsurprised by Omega's sudden interruption.

"If all goes well, a couple of weeks. In a worst case scenario, a couple of months. There's also the possibility that the OU capture the system, in which case we'll have a whole other set of problems."

Omega's brutally honest take on our situation left Jacob and I stunned for a moment. It made me wonder how things are going in space. If the OU manage to take Sol, how long will it take to get it back from them? Months? Years? There's also the political situation to think of. Humanity will push hard to take Sol back, but we'd only get a couple of chances before the pushback from the other species became too strong.

One of the first arguments they'll make is that we're wasting resources on recapturing a mostly evacuated system that we already were wasting resources guarding. This argument will become much more potent with each failure to recapture the system. They will accuse us of using the US military as a tool for our own personal vendettas, conveniently sidestepping the fact that Sol is a part of the United Systems and the only one being threatened by the Omni-Union.

Omega's not wrong. If we fail to keep Sol, we will have to be worrying about food, water, and ammo. We won't be able to just hole up in this bunker, we'll have to venture forth. Doing so now would be foolish because we don't yet know where the OU has dug in. We'll need to give them a week or so, then scout out their locations and patrols. I looked at Jason, and realized he was staring at me. His expression told me he had similar worries.

"We'll be fine," I said with fabricated confidence. "We've got the best ships in the galaxy. Even if we lose Sol, we'll retake it damn quick."

He smiled and shook his head, "The reason I'm undocumented is because my parents and their parents wanted to avoid being drafted. Every undoc in here has a similar tale. Just peaceful people wanting to live peaceful lives, and this is where we end up. The Universe has a twisted sense of humor, mate."

"Drafted?" I asked. "The United Systems doesn't have a draft."

"Earth does. Mandatory military service for every Earth citizen, with the option to transfer that service to the US," he explained.

"Hasn't the Earth Planetary Government prohibited declarations of war?"

"Sure, but how do you think they enforce that? The EPG is the one that runs the draft. If a nation gets uppity, they send soldiers to enforce the peace. Peace enforcement, as you would bloody know, is done through battle," he sighed. "Not many nations are a fan of the EPG's peace, either. We've been waiting for world war five to kick off any year now."

This was news to me, but I found myself unsurprised. Earth had always presented itself to the galactic community as a near-paradise, but in almost the exact way that shady vacation resorts do. The same kind of resort where you're slightly more likely to get mugged than you are to have any sort of fun. Part of me had hoped it was coincidence.

A quote came to mind. 'I do not know with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.' I think it was Albert Einstein who said that, shortly after Earth's second world war. When we were learning Earth history in high school, my friends and I made fun of that quote. Called it optimistic, turned it into an inside joke, and chuckled to ourselves when we learned about the destruction that happened during Earth's fourth world war.

Major cities turning into craters, coastlines getting new gulfs, the fall of the American Empire, and nearly a billion deaths were all sources of amusement to us. 'Look what you can do with some sticks and stones,' we had said. Of course, we were bored and angsty teenagers who were far separated from the violence being explained to us by our teachers by both time and distance. Still, I couldn't help but feel a stab of shame.

"Anyway, what should we be doin'?" Jacob asked.

"We will need intel on enemy movements," I answered. "You and your men know the area well. Find out who's willing to do some scouting and get them prepped. We'll need them on the road in a day or two, once the OU settles in. We want to know where the Omni-Union are and what moves they're making. Be sure to tell the scouts not to get close, their lives are more valuable than the intel."

"That's a switch."

"Not really, we're low on body-count and we're likely going to be assaulted at some point. We'll feel every death, so we need to make those deaths count."

Jacob stared at me for a moment, then nodded and walked away. As he was going, two of the team indicator lights in my helmet disappeared, indicating that Smith and Simmons were outside of standard comms range. Their mission might end up being a waste of time, but it would be really damn dumb not to at least try to prepare for enemy armor.

"Contact," Hanson said over comms. "Receiving fire."

"Get everyone in position if they aren't already and return fire," I ordered as I hefted my rifle.

Another day, another firefight.