The Buckley was supposed to be hooked into the ship's communication's system so he should be able to contact Hagai. If he was on the same ship.

  "Contacting," the Buckley said tonelessly. After the slew of despair the thing had spewed on first starting, he had asked how to turn down the emulation. Feldwebel Harz had tried to load a Rommel emulation he'd gotten off the net and crashed his so hard it had to be replaced. All it kept doing was repeating "Who controls space? Who controls the air? Adoption compromise solutions must be adopted!"

  So everyone had turned the emulations down, but the devices were still useful for communication.

  "Ox, how are you?"

  "Over-trained and undersexed," Frederick replied, grinning. "You?"

  "Much the same," Hagai said. "Oh, I got transferred. To Florian Geyer."

  "The Panzerjaegers? Who hated you that much? They're supposed to take on the Juggernauts!"

  "Maccabeus was over-strength, Florian Geyer was under. It's tough, though. They don't observe kosher and . . . other stuff."

  "Wow, must suck," Frederick said. In school the cooks had been careful to always have some kosher foods avaialable for the Jewish children. But even then the choices had been more scanty than those for the "regulars." "I've got a question for you."

  "Go."

  "Harz was quizzing me the other day," Frederick said. "About the P-5297 and the M-3698."

  "Lifting platform and . . . a field generator?" Hagai said.

  "Yes, I looked the M-3698 up later. It's a field generator for "high energy conditions." But I don't know what that means. And it's all I could find. Harz asked me about them then told me to forget he'd asked."

  "The lifting platforms are usually used to move very heavy equipment around," Hagai said. "Makes sense on a ship. The Kobolds are probably using them to rearrange equipment. The lifting platform also has a mass effect repellent system. That's a system that will prevent serious falls. When it approaches a mass at high speed it reduces the velocity of the lifted system automatically. It's a safety device, basically, but they were used a couple of times in the War for aerial resupply. They drop at normal terminal velocity then slow a couple of feet off the ground and drop under reduced gravity. No real deceleration effect so you can drop about anything. I don't know much about the M-3698. It uses a set of energy fields to shield equipment or personnel in high-energy situations. Like if they know there's going to be a nuclear detonation. It won't stop the full power of one, but it will shield from secondary effects. Works on all forms of matter and most particles but once activated it only lasts for about thirty minutes. They were developed during the War but rarely used. All I can remember."

  "You're a wonder, Jaeger," Frederick said. "Don't let the Juggernauts eat you."

  "Well, we're supposed to be seconded to other units," Hagai said. "So maybe we'll see each other. It's late, Ox, I'm going to get some sleep."

  "You're an old soldier already, Jaeger."

  "Generalmajor, there are problems."

  Oberst Werner Wehling was the Staff 2 (Personnel) for the Vaterland. Like most of the High Command he was a rejuv, dating back to WWII. His specialty, even then, was personnel and he'd held similar positions during the Posleen War.

  "Define," Muehlenkampf said.

  "Two in nature," Wehling said. "The first is that there are increasing personnel interaction difficulties. The Feldgendarmerie have been forced to break up and more and more fights. This is leading to inter-unit difficulties in some compartments. The second relates to queries on the ship's net about the P-5297s and the M-3698s."

  "Apparently someone in logistics has been flapping their lips," Muehlenkampf said, nodding. "This is not unexpected. 1A."

  "Generalmajor?" Oberst Dotzauer said. Dotzauer had commanded a brigade during the Posleen War but his true love was operations, defined in the German staff structure as Group 1 (A) just as Personnel was Group 2.

  "What is the status of training?"

  "There is, unfortunately, little training that can be done on the ship," Dotzauer said, shrugging. "We have no simulators so the major faults left on the enlisted side are difficult to rectify. Maintenance, for obvious reasons, is being handled by the Indowy. So there is no training to be done there. Most of the training that is scheduled is repetitive. There are benefits to repetition, but these are relatively simple tasks."

  "Two, send a general order to all ships the next time we drop out of warp for navigational alignment," Muehlenkampf said. "Hiberzine is to be administered to all personnel below the level of battalion command and staff. All officers and all enlisted. Spread it as a life-support saving measure. We will bring them out when we are closer to the objective."

  "This will exhaust most of our stock of Hiberzine, Colonel."

  "I am aware of that, Hauptmann," Colonel Isabel De Gaullejac said.

  Isabel De Gaullejac had been a hardcore French socialist liberal, and there were no more hardcore socialist liberals on Earth, even after the Posleen had landed on Earth. There was no benefit, she felt, to soldiers and there was no way that an extraterrestrial race could possibly be as violent as they were portrayed. It was simply a plot to advance the military-industrial complex and she would not let her sons be squandered to make profits for the corporations.

  She had held that unshaken belief right up until the retreat from Paris. But nearly dying from starvation, not to mention nearly feeding the Posleen, had broken her disbelief. At which point she became just as fanatical in the reverse. A trained doctor, she now commanded the SS medical corps and if she had any qualms about that remaining from her younger and more naïve days they never surfaced.

  "But the order is valid and will be obeyed," the Colonel said. "Circulate the order to all medical personnel. Put in a priority request to be resupplied with Hiberzine if we pass any inhabited planet. It is too useful a drug to not have in our inventory. We are going to need it."

  Frederick watched the coprsmen approach unhappily. As each of the troopers in the compartment were given their injections they relaxed so much as to appear dead and their faces flushed. With tongues bulging out slightly and their eyes open they looked not so much dead but as if they were sleeping nosferatu, the original vampire legend of the living dead.

  "One little shot and you'll wake up refreshed and ready for battle," the corpsman repeated as he gave Aderholder his shot. They were saying that with everyone, as if that was going to make people feel better.

  "Just go ahead," Frederick said, cutting off the mantra. "I'm not afraid."

  "That makes you unique in this ship in my experience," the medic said.

  But Frederick didn't hear as his body settled into stillness.

  Chapter Eighteen

  "Damn, those are pretty things," Adams said, watching the video.

  They weren't sure where the file had come from, just that the Himmit had obtained it. It was Hedren plasma mortars, which were going to be one of their major bugaboos. The mortars had at least the range of the 120s and there were bound to be mortar to mortar counter-battery duels.

  The rounds were green fire drifting across the firmament. Despite it being broad daylight they could be tracked by eye, seemingly moving in slow motion. Then they dropped and dropped finally bursting in a hemisphere of green fire that torched everything in its zone. The vegetation, which had a faint purple sheen like that of Barwhon, burst into fire in a circle beyond the explosion.

  "Very pretty," Sergeant Moreland said. "Gist, think you could figure the counter fire trajectory?"

  "Not sure, Sergeant," the senior gunnery computer said. "I'd need a bit more data on scale. Off-hand, I'd say they were firing from two thousand meters. If that's accurate, I could more or less determine their position. Give me any sort of compass or sight and I could do it for sure."

  "Which is the one of their many weaknesses," Moreland said. "You can see the damned things. You don't have to use a fucking computer and radar to figure out where they are. There arty works the same way, only from further away. Incoming is going to be Mark-One eyeyball time. Our shit is, comparatively, invisible. Keren, what is the most effective round we have for troops in the open?"

  "Variable time or prox, Sergeant," Keren replied automatically.

  "Why?" Moreland asked.

  "It throws out a wider dispersion of shrapnel," Keren said. "More footprint equals more casualties."

  "This system has no shrapnel," Moreland said. "If you're not directly in that rather narrow footprint, or real close, you're golden. Now, it's a pretty serious footprint if it hits in our perimeter and anything in the footprint is, literally, crispy fried. But it's a narrow footprint compared to shrapnel. Twenty five meters versus fifty. That matters."

  "It's got one benefit," Sergeant Richards said. "It's like napalm. It's very fucking scary."

  "Keren, you scared of this system?" Moreland asked.

  "Very, sergeant," Keren said.

  "You gonna run if we're taking fire?"

  "Nope. Didn't run at The Mall. Ain't gonna run from no plasma artillery."

  "Scary don't win wars."

  The rounds were small. Normally, mortar rounds were rather long and tapered with fins on the end and charges arrayed around the fins. The exception that Keren recalled was 4.2 inch mortars which used rifled barrels for spin stabilization.

  These looked sort of like 4.2 with fins and a weird circular foot. They weren't much longer than a 4.2. But they had nearly twice the range. And you could pack nearly twice as many into the track as 120s. On the other hand, if the ammo racks took a hit, the blow-out panels had better work or everyone in the track was going to be a crispy critter.

  "Ready on the right? The right is ready. Ready on the left? The left is ready. Commence firing three rounds, contact, slow, tube mount."

  The mortar could be fired from either the tube or the breach. For automatic fire there was a reload mount that hooked to the breach. Currently it was stored and they were doing it the old fashioned way, dropping the rounds down the snout of the barrel.

  The mortar had a weird sound to it. There was a super-sonic crack but it was muted. And over it was a sort of ZIIIP! and whine as the electro-drive shoved the round back up the tube. It sure as hell wasn't the crashing explosion Keren was used to.

  The effect downrange, though, removed any question he had about the mortar's utility. The rounds were landing all around the decrepit bulldozer that was the target. Direct hits were ripping pieces off the construction equipment, which was rare to see with normal rounds.

  The whole company had gathered for the first mortar live fire and Keren was glad it had gone well. Lay-in and targeting had used the computer adjustment system so it was about ten times as fast as normal. Altogether the system worked really well. He figured the CO brought the rest of the company to see that, yeah, mortars had their place.

  "Cease fire," Sergeant Moreland ordered. "Ensure clear on all weapons."

  "Okay, troops, this is why you're really here," Cutprice boomed from the range tower. "I've been pretty interested in the anti-artillery system these things boast. I want to see how they do against our mortars. I've obtained permission for the elimination of one standard AFV from inventory . . ."

  Keren stared in amazement as two brand-new tracks approached from the woodline. As he watched a figure jumped out of the lead track and hustled to the rear one. Unless he was much mistaken, it was the First Sergeant.

  "Mortars, mount your automatic thingies," Cutprice said. "Target the remaining track. Start with slow fire, Sergeant. On command, prepare to go to maximum."

  "This is gonna be interesting," Cristman said, setting the gun for automatic adjustment.

  "Tell me about it," Adams said, locking the breach magazine system into place.

  "Two gun, up," Keren said over the communicator.

  "Mortar section up, prepare for automated adjustment."

  The gun moved slightly to the side and the nose hunted upwards.

  "Guns on target, closed."

  "All guns, fire three rounds, slow fire, manual, on command."

  "Three rounds, roger," Keren said. "On command. Wait for it."

  "Fire one," Moreland said.

  "Fire!"

  Adams dropped a round down the chute and took the next from Griffis.

  "Fire two."

  "Fire."

  Clang, WHEET, crack.

  "Fire Three. Cease fire."

  "They're still in flight," Keren said, popping his head up.

  He was prepared to see the rounds drop on or near the track. Instead, there were lines of blue fire like bent lasers reaching upwards and twelve blossoms of fire from high overhead. The nearest they'd gotten, by his eyeball, is maybe a thousand feet above ground level. At that height, what you were going to get was a gentle patter of metal you had to brush out of your hair. A big chunk might hurt a bit. If you weren't wearing a helmet. And it wasn't going to fall near the target.

  "Well, that is actually a surprise," Cutprice boomed. "But I suppose if the Posleen could shoot down hyper velocity missiles, we should be able to shoot down some nice slow mortars. Mortars, I want you to fire nine rounds each just as fast as you possibly can. Let's see if we can overwhelm the system."

  "Two Gun. Fire for effect, nine rounds, contact. On command . . ."

  "Two gun up."

  "Fire."

  This time all they could do was service the gun as fast as they could. Cristman took the right while Adams had the left, Griffis handing rounds to Cristman and Keren porting for Adams. The system, much like a WWII Bofors gun, permitted continuous feeding of the rounds and fired very nearly as fast. Without the heat generated by an explosive charge, the barrel could take rounds faster than they could be loaded. In no more than fifteen seconds the last round was away and they popped up to see what they'd wrought. Unfortunately, while the system cried out for a large capacity, exchangeable magazine, such a magazine would be too heavy to load.

  The M576 mortar round had a small dollop of antimatter at its center and a bunch of notched wire surrounding it. With a casualty causing radius of fifty meters in contact setting, sixty on proximity, the explosion on direct contact could cut through light armor like paper.

  And the puffs of smoke were getting closer. The sheer volume of fire was overloading the single anti-artillery system on the track. With 36 rounds headed its way, the system was having to hunt across the sky and the puffs came lower and lower until one finally impacted on the rear deck. The explosion was heavy enough to damage the anti-artillery gun and two of the next three rounds hit across the track, turning it into a mangled piece of very expensive metal.

  "So we see the good news and the bad," Cutprice said to the subdued company. As with any company of infantry, the mortarmen had been rooting for the artillery and the gun bunnies had been rooting for the anti-artillery system. Both groups had reasons to be happy and chastized. "The good news is that the system works. The better news is that, en masse, it will probably work even better. The bad news is that even mortars can overcome it if there's enough incoming. The answer, gentlemen, is to make sure that all your M84 track-commander guns remain up, that commanders relinquish control to automatic at any incoming and that we maintain enough coverage that we can interlock fires. The system should also work against incoming anti-armor rockets. Keep it on auto unless you have an important target, commanders. Mortars, keep up your exercise. And keep in mind that the Hedren have a similar system."

  "Echo Two Seven, target troops in the open, grid six-five-eight-two by four-two-zero-four!"

  "Mortar section, hip-shoot east!" Lieutenant Todd shouted over the communicator.

  The six tracks of the Bravo Company, First Battalion, Fourteenth Regiment (Separate) had been cranking at full speed on ground-effect down the trace of former Missouri Highway Eight heading for their next firing position. The trace was covered by small saplings, mostly poplar with an admixture of beech and pine. But the armored mortar carriers snapped those in a welter of flying sticks and leaves that had the front of the otherwise invisible mortar carrier covered in a green froth.

  At the command Oppenheimer spun up the tracks and slammed the vehicle to the ground, causing a screech of complaint from the drive-train and a rooster-tail of flying soil and pulverized vegetation.

  "Watch the fucking tracks!" Keren shouted as the driver slid the vehicle sideways, its mortar compartment oriented to the east.

  "Aligned!" was all Oppenheimer said.

  Keren hit the disconnect on this safety-harness, a necessity when going at nearly seventy miles an hour, and dropped his command chair into the belly of the track.

  Before he could even get out of his seat, though, Adams and Griffis had slammed open the splinter-cover over the mortar. With a grunt the gun was lifted on its automated support pod and locked into place. Cristman hit the auto-align button and waited.