Mike Spears

Colonel Mike Spears was a ghost in the Marine Operations center. Around him generals and other colonels spoke and everyone watched the unfiltered view of what was happening. Unlike the more public broadcast, this view had actual ammunition levels and showed covert assets. It was not sanitized for public viewing, showing actual casualties, suspected targets and chance of intercept.

Already most defensive systems had expended fifty percent of their magazines. If the UE’s had launched more than one wave of torpedoes things would get really nasty. He listened to a couple generals discussing what could be released to the public and what couldn’t. Everyone knew that anything released to the public would instantly be available to UE agents and could be used for negative propaganda, but there was a push to also be as truthful as possible. Mike was glad he didn’t have to make those decisions.

“It is a shame the Han never tried this,” Colonel Shane Welky said. “Might have forced us to improve our defenses.”

Mike shrugged.

“The Han never tried it because they wanted our planet habitable,” Mike said. “The UE’s want us to bow down before them. Failing that they will use us as an example for when they take on the Confederacy.”

“You think anybody else will censure them?” Shane asked.

Mike glanced at his friend. Shane was a bulldog of a man, who couldn’t be called fat once one realized his body mass was just muscles on muscles.

“We will be dead,” Mike said. “It won’t matter I suspect. The Han, the Sha and the Republica will probably rant and rave but I doubt they will do much. Their memory and concern is shorter than their distance from the UE. The independent colonies will fall over themselves to declare allegiance to the UE if we let the UE’s succeed. The Han wanted territory. The UE’s want power and control.”

“And that other possible problem?” Shane asked.

Mike scowled and verified the link was secure and nobody else could hear the conversation.

“The UE’s will make a convenient excuse to move that along,” Mike said. “But that might not be a problem for decades, or centuries. The probes are nearly a million years old. Their civilization has probably collapsed or devolved hundreds of thousands of years ago.”

“Could it be behind the UE’s actions?” Shane asked. “Maybe they are scared?”

Mike shook his head.

“We have told them what we know,” Mike said. “They laughed at our envoy and said the probe was too ancient to be relevant.”

Shane nodded.

“So Operation Hermit continues?” Shane asked.

“At an accelerated pace now I suspect,” Mike said. “Just not for the right reasons.”

“We have not seen any sign of the probe makers,” Shane said. “What makes you think they will show up this year or next?”

Mike shook his head.

“What makes you think they won’t? Regardless,” Mike said. “We need to be prepared. I would rather not gamble the future of the human race.”

Two torpedoes escaped the second wall of sand.

“A slow motion train wreck,” Shane muttered as the eyes of both colonels turned to the display.

All the Marines remained transfixed, watching the display, watching the intelligence feeds. The second they passed the second wall of sand the torpedoes burst, releasing their missiles. They were now ten minutes out and nobody had any illusions about being able to stop them now. Flak was still being thrown out but it was more of a hail Mary response, a likely futile last attempt to stop the missiles.

With their high velocity even the smallest change in direction or speed would cause defensive fire to miss by a large margin.

There was nothing slow about what was happening though, but the distances were so vast it would be hard to comprehend.

“This is going to suck,” Shane muttered.

The two torpedoes deployed a total of twelve missiles. Six missiles per torpedo, idly Mike wondered if all the torpedoes had been the same model, each with six missiles. Had even half of the full torpedo spread made it then Everett would be a glowing cinder.

Feeling helpless Mike watched the spacers frantically try to intercept the missiles but it was hopeless.

Two missiles took out space stations and the others slammed into the atmosphere.

“New Wilmington arcology was hit,” someone reported.

“The other missiles?” the commander asked.

“Three Army bases were hit, the others appear to have been targeted at depots,” the spacer reported. “Four missiles have hit unoccupied areas, three in the ocean and one in the mountains. Search and rescue is launching for New Wilmington.”

Mike brought up the details on New Wilmington and scowled. It had been an arcology, a collection of self contained super towers and the leading principle of New Wilmington had been pacifism. Had that been intentional or just a target of opportunity?

“Why hit New Wilmington?” Shane asked.

Mike shook his head.

“Bastards,” Shane said. “The nukes in the ocean are designed to cause tidal waves, and I would wager the one in the mountain is designed to shake up a volcano or three.”

“They are going to pay,” Mike said through gritted teeth. It didn’t matter if New Wilmington had been full of warmongers or pacifists. They were civilians. Noncombatants and their murder would be avenged. Military targets were acceptable. It was war, but not innocent civilians. Their murder had to have been intentional.

“Are we going to lose our souls making them pay?” Shane asked. “Will we retaliate in kind and keep escalating until all our worlds are burned cinders?”

Mike shook his head. He didn’t know but if he had to guess, souls were questionable science but revenge was a sure thing.

“Either way,” Mike said. “The senate will want more assets in UE space so they have more options.”

Shane nodded. Revenge would be inevitable, the only question was scale.

“This will only accelerate the launch of the Huntress,” Mike said. “The UE’s are screwed and they don’t even know it yet.”