The hard work of building an industrial base on Titan and planning a war seemed to have steadied his nerves and stabilized his mental state. The loneliness and inactivity aboard the Akkad…had that unhinged the older ones who had remained on board? Or had it given them the rare chance to truly look inward and outward to spiritual matters?

  Assur dragged a hand over his face. He would mull this over for a time before making a decision. Whatever he did, he needed to use delicacy and persuasion.

  -53-

  ORBITAL STATION HERMES, LOW EARTH ORBIT

  AUGUST 2062

  Colonel Mike Steele and the former Western States of America soldiers had changed considerably in nearly two years in corporation captivity.

  None of them had sworn any oaths or signed any documents to the Corpocracy. But my how they’d trained in esoteric tactics and techniques.

  The very worst had been the injections. Each soldier had been injected with a gloopy yellow solution. They had all sickened, some for a week, some two weeks and few like Steele for three. About six percent of the injected died from it.

  Only after six months of intensive training and bodybuilding after the injections, did a GPI instructor tell them what the corporations had put into them. It was a muscle enhancer and health stabilizer.

  Jones raised a hand at the mass briefing.

  “Yes,” the instructor said.

  “Is that why we’re stronger?” Jones said.

  “That’s part of it.”

  “You injected us with steroids?”

  “No,” the instructor said, “although the solution has a permanent side-effect as acting like a steroid. The solution has altered each of you in a minute way. Have any of you had colds since then?”

  They were all seated in a hall on chairs. They glanced at each other. None of them had experienced a cold or flu since the injections.

  Steele raised a hand. He sat in the front row.

  “Colonel,” the instructor said.

  “What’s the catch?”

  “Some of you died.”

  Steele knew that. They all did. “What else?” he said.

  The instructor nodded. “None of you is going to live as long. The change to your bodies means you’re burning up faster. The solution has altered you so your metabolic rate is much higher. You all eat more but don’t gain weight. I’m sure you’ve all noticed that.”

  Steele nodded. They’d all noticed all right. “How much sooner will we die?”

  The instructor shrugged.

  The armed guards behind him, men in armored vests, stirred uneasily.

  “Twenty, thirty years for most of you,” the instructor said.

  “But we don’t seem to age,” Steele said.

  “No. You’ll just drop dead. That will be the only indication.”

  “Are you screwing with our minds saying shit like that?” Steele said.

  “No, Colonel,” the instructor said. “I’m telling it to you straight. You deserve that much.”

  “So what’s the point to all this?” Steele said.

  The instructor grinned, showing all his pearly white teeth. “You’re going to save humanity. Isn’t that want you want?”

  Steele sensed a stirring among his men. His heart was beating faster than ordinary. They had all felt and understood that they were stronger, faster, and more lethal than before. Now, they learned the cost, thirty years of life extracted from them. But while they lasted, they were in tiptop form.

  Steele recalled the horrible meeting as he sat in a seat of a rocket plane with others of the Ninth Space Marine Battalion. It comprised only eight hundred effectives, much smaller than a regular battalion.

  The men had trained with new weapons, mastered new tactics and learned their freaking objective. The Corpocracy had not only sliced off the years they would live, but were about to send them on a fantastic military mission. They were going to head out to Neptune and storm an alien generational vessel. They were going to do this on nuclear bomb-driven spaceships.

  Madness, it was all madness.

  Yet, Steele had seen pictures of the alien starship. He’d seen pictures and other evidence of the alien base camp building on Titan, a moon of Saturn.

  A bastard named James Petty had spoken to the battalion two weeks ago. He’d been a cocky CEO in a black suit and tie. He acted like the cock of the walk, as if he was the meanest mo-fo on Earth. The battalion had been packed into an auditorium with baton-armed guards lined up along the walls.

  James Petty, tough as ever, walked onto the stage. Machine-pistol armed guards had been lined up behind him.

  Petty had sneered at them. “Listen up, because I’m going to tell it to you straight. I’m a CEO on the World Ruling Council.”

  In their seats, the space marines stirred. Steele remembered his gut tightening. If he could climb on stage and reach the over-muscled clod, he would break the man’s neck and kill him. It would mean he’d have to die, though.

  Petty laughed openly at them. “Look at you heroes. You all believe in the bullshit of the old ways. You call yourselves soverists but the real historical name is nationalists or patriots. You have pride in America. Other battalions have pride in Russia or in China. That’s who makes up the expeditionary force going out to face the aliens, Americans, Russians, and Chinese.”

  Petty cracked his knuckles. “Yours is the American battalion made up of former WSA soldiers. You fought hard against the Corpocracy, even though you had no chance at winning. I respect that at least. You love your country and you have heart.”

  Petty nodded. “We haven’t discovered a way to instill that kind of devotion in corporation soldiers, at least not yet. Men love to win and they love money and chicks. A few love their religion. That’s why we picked you. You creeps have clung to your outdated thinking with fierce devotion. You’re all zealous patriots. Okay patriots, listen to this: space aliens have come to take our world. You’re our answer to them. Do whatever you have to out there. If you fail, our world dies. If you want to be patriots, be patriots to Earth, or be patriots to your particular country. Just fight like you have against us and the world should win.”

  Petty scanned the seated battalion. “I do take it you want to win, yes?”

  None of the battalion answered.

  Steele felt himself rising and then standing. He faced the men and inclined his head to them. Then he turned and faced Petty on the stage. It gratified Steele to see the pistol-armed creeps behind Petty getting tense.

  “Mr. CEO,” Steele shouted. “You’re a bastard, a cocky son of a bitch who acts tough when all the guns are on his side.”

  “That means I’m smart,” Petty said. “To do it any other way is stupid.”

  “So you say,” Steele replied. “I don’t like you. In fact, you can go to hell. But we’ll fight because one, we’re the best and two, we’re going to save our world. Then, afterward, we’re going to take you and your kind down. Bet on that.”

  Petty’s smile had frozen on his face.

  Despite knowing his speech was brash, Steele felt good delivering it. They were trapped, and maybe the bastard spoke the truth—

  Steele sat down.

  Soon, Petty continued with words, but Steele no longer listened.

  Instead, Steele returned to himself as the rocket plane eased into the Hermes docking bay. The three Orion spaceships were ready. The Corpocracy had stocked them with everything needed. It had taken a few months longer to get everything together, including some superficial flight tests.

  Now, it was time to embark on the mission.

  Two years of training were ending. We’re mercenaries, Steele knew. They chose us for our patriotism and proven resilience, fighting to the finish regardless of the odds.

  That was a weird combination.

  Steele inhaled. The Corpocracy had shortened his life without his consent. But he had a son down on Earth. He would do this so his son might live. The Corpocracy was full of bastards to the core, but in the end, because of the space aliens, that didn’t really matter. Winning, in this case, really was the only thing.

  -54-

  Three giant Orion nuclear pulse propulsion spaceships waited in Mid-Earth Orbit. Each ship was over 100,000 tons, carrying an excess of 3,000 0.5-kiloton nuclear devices.

  There were large missiles attached to the sides of the vessel. These launch vehicles would take the space marines from the Orion ship and to the generational vessel when the time came.

  Each Orion ship carried 800 space marines and the crew to fly the vessel. Altogether, each Orion ship had the mass and weight of a fully loaded USS Gerald R. Ford, the largest U.S.N. carrier ever built.

  The Third Space Marine Battalion led by Colonel Steele presently boarded the George Patton from docked rocket planes. Like the Georgy Zhukov, and the Sun Tzu, the George Patton carried a railgun and several hundred defensive missiles.

  Each Orion spaceship looked like an exaggerated cone from an old-style rocket. The cone was thicker and heavier than any rocket cone launched from the Earth’s surface, and far, far larger.

  The key to the Orion design was a heavy and massive pusher plate. This would have to absorb the nuclear blasts that would propel the ship each time. Each pusher plate had thick absorbers so the marines and crew on the other side would not shake to death.

  The pulse propulsion was simplicity in theory and savage in reality. A bomb dropped out of a center chute, moved away and detonated. The blast pushed the pusher plate and through it the entire vessel. Using this method, the Orion ships should reach and stop in and around Neptune in 18 months or 1.5 years after leaving Earth orbit.

  That meant the marines and crew would have to survive aboard ship for that long. That meant the marines, at least, would have to be in fighting shape at the point of contact with the aliens in 1.5 years.

  No one in human history had dared such a voyage of such amazing distance. Neptune was 4.3 billion kilometers from Earth.

  There were other considerations. Manfred A.S. Huber had calculated one of the chief drawbacks. The alien’s generational vessel could flee elsewhere, especially if it had enough time. That meant humanity needed to trick the aliens about the ultimate destination of the George Patton, Georgy Zhukov and the Sun Tzu.

  The Georgy Zhukov had Russian patriots as space marines. The Sun Tzu carried Chinese patriot space marines and flight crew. Each of those battalions was composed of nationalists keenly desiring freedom for their particular nation.

  General Konev led the Russian space marines, while Colonel-General Li led the Chinese space marines.

  Each battalion had similar fighting suits and weaponry. Steele had met with Konev and Li on three separate occasions. They’d spoken about tactics and shook hands each time.

  Steele presently carried a small kit as he floated through the narrow corridors of the mighty George Patton. First Sergeant Jones floated behind him, and then Sergeant Daniel Leatherwood.

  Space was at a premium aboard the Orion ship. The marines did not have private quarters; they had sleeping stalls where they could stow their kit. Each cubicle held extra clothes. There were five exercise chambers aboard the Orion ship and several game rooms. One and a half years was a long time to be cooped up with an entire battalion together.

  The flight crew lived in a sealed area of the ship. They had more room per person and thus more privacy.

  Steele reached his numbered stall or cubicle: 52. There were curving lines and rows of cubicles. Each was set so the occupant could absorb the terrible thrust of the nuclear explosion acceleration when it happened.

  For a second, Steele stared in horror at his stall. It was long enough, and a little wider than a normal bed. He realized that this would be his only privacy for the next three years, assuming he survived the mission and returned to Earth.

  Steele exhaled and then breathed deeply. He closed his eyes as a feeling of claustrophobia gripped him.

  “You can do it, Steele,” he whispered to himself.

  A marine shouted in horror.

  While airborne, floating in zero gravity, Steele whirled around.

  “None of that,” Steele said in a loud voice.

  “Sir,” Jones said. “Let me deal with that. Stow your gear and get comfortable.”

  Steele nodded to his First Sergeant. The shakes and claustrophobia had left him. Having to deal with it in his men had taken care of it in him. Should he help Jones with this?

  Steele knew the answer. He was the old man. He needed to be remote from the men, even if he didn’t have separate quarters. The sergeants were going to have their hands full. But maybe dealing with the men would help comfort the sergeants as it just had him.

  Steele stowed his pathetically small amount of kit and gear. The fighting suit and weapons were in storage lockers elsewhere. The corporations had built the Orion ships in record time. Steele had no doubt many safety measures had never been tested and would likely fail later. Did that mean the battalion would die in space?

  No matter how he looked at it, this was a huge gamble.

  Steele grinned tightly. There was one good point. They were on their own at last.

  He breathed slowly, soaking this in. The Corpocracy had chosen them for a reason. Now, they had the biggest and most important mission of their lives.

  A wall speaker clicked on.

  “This is your ship captain speaking,” a woman said. “You have forty-five minutes to strap in. Please stow your gear or use the restrooms. We will accelerate for a time as a shakedown cruise before we get started. Again, you have forty-five minutes to prepare. Please be ready by then. That is all.”

  The female voice clicked off.

  Steele wondered if they were all going to fall in love with the captain and her female voice by the end of the mission.

  “Please, dear God,” Steele whispered. “Help us. Help all of us…” He didn’t know what to add. So he said, “Amen.”

  With that, Steele looked around, saw things were settling down, and decided to be the example. Thus, he floated into his stall, lay down, and put on the restraints, waiting for the voyage to begin.

  -55-

  It took twice as long as the selected forty-five minutes before the Third Space Marine Battalion had stowed their gear and hunkered down in their acceleration couches. Those couches were in fact their cubicles.

  The captain’s voice came on again, telling them everything was ready. “The countdown has begun. We will be the first ship to leave Earth orbit, boys. This is going to be fun, believe you me.”

  There were a few hoots, whistling and catcalls.

  Steele didn’t bother telling the men to keep it quiet. Neither did any other officer or sergeant say a thing.

  Steele found himself breathing faster. This was it. They were going to leave MEO, or Mid-Earth Orbit. This orbit ranged anywhere between 2,000 kilometers from the Earth’s surface to 35,786 kilometers. The higher number was where geostationary orbits began.

  Most of the world’s global positioning systems were in MEO. There was more radiation out here than in LEO, or Low-Earth Orbit. They wouldn’t have to worry about that in the Orion ship. The welders and others who had built the ships had faced challenges due to the greater radiation dangers.

  The Orion ship was still far away from the satellite city in the Earth-Moon Lagrange 5 point. The Earth-Moon L5 was a point between the two gravitational bodies where the attraction and repulsion canceled each other out. One could park at this point, remaining there indefinitely. The Earth-Moon L5 point was 384,400 kilometers from Earth, roughly 60 degrees behind the Moon in orbit.

  Presently, the Moon and the L5 satellite city were on the other side of the Earth. Thus, the space city didn’t have to worry about any radiation or heat blast as the pulse bombs detonated.

  “You boys ready for this?” the captain asked in a light tone over the speakers.

  The catcalls and whistles died away.

  Steele tightened his stomach and forgot to breathe. He started feeling light-headed and finally inhaled sharply, breathing again.

  When was this going to happen? Had something gone wrong? Why hadn’t the show gotten on the road?

  “Sarge,” one marine said.

  “Hang in there, Phelps,” Jones shouted back.

  Steele blinked, wishing he could see the others. They had partitions up between the cubicles. If one sat up, he could see his neighbor lying down. If anyone were stupid enough to sit up, he’d get what he deserved once the ship started accelerating.

  There were audible clicks from all around. The ship shuddered.

  “Was that it?” a marine asked. “Are we moving?”

  “No, you idiot,” another said. “You’ll know when it’s happening.”

  The ship shuddered again and the weirdest groan sounded. It was like a deep-sea whale calling to another. There it was again.

  “This is creeping me out.” That was Daniel Leatherwood speaking.

  Steele was debating having the men sing in order to relieve some of the tension.

  Then, there were more clicks and suddenly:

  WHAM

  WHAM

  WHAM

  The sound was overwhelming as Steele’s body was pressed down against his acceleration couch. He couldn’t breathe even if he wanted to.

  WHAM

  WHAM

  WHAM

  It happened again.

  A part of Steele wanted to howl in terror. The instructors had told them about the shock and noise of the nuclear devices going off. These were small ones, he knew. They were only 0.5 kilotons.

  “Only,” the man said. Did anyone realize that 0.5 kilotons was the equivalent of 500 tons of TNT exploding all at once? That was 2.092 terajoules. That was enough energy to keep 5,811,111 100-watt light bulbs lit for an hour.

  It was a lot of power in other words.

  WHAM

  WHAM

  WHAM

  The 100,000-ton George Patton Orion ship was trying to escape from Earth’s gravity well. That meant a high-intensity initial acceleration routine.

  Here, that meant exploding one nuclear bomb every three seconds. The captain would continue doing that for the first few hours.