Graham Paul - The battle for Commitment planet

Sedova lifted her hands in mock defeat. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Wishful thinking. I asked Chief Chua if we could build another lander from microfab-produced spare parts. He said it was the dumbest question he'd ever been asked. Cost me a beer, and you know how hard beer is to come by, so it-"

Michael and Acharya laughed.

"-cost me an absolute fortune. Anyway, spares aren't the problem. Ordnance is. We're out of decoys, we have no missiles or attack drones left, so we are down to anything we can get from the Hammers: iron bombs, clusterbots, and cannons… when the NRA is able to steal them for us. They're good at it, but supplies are tight," she added.

"Microfabs can't help?" Michael asked.

"For all the inert components-casings, logic boards, power supplies, wiring, and so on-yes. The NRA's supply system is working well, so raw materials are no problem. They're unbelievable; if it's not bolted down, they'll steal it. But when it comes to fuses, high-yield explosives, and missile propellants, no. Too complex, too difficult, too damn dangerous to even try. We'd need dedicated fabricators for them, and sadly, we don't have any. So we're stuck with explosives that aren't much good in modern ordnance."

Michael nodded. Missiles warheads in particular had shrunk dramatically thanks to the ever more powerful explosives packed inside them. The stuff the NRA produced was good for blowing DocSec trucks off the road, but that was about all, though he had to admit their fuel-air weapons were as good as anything the Hammers deployed.

"That's the problem," he continued. "Before we committed to Gladiator, we asked ourselves if we could make a difference. We decided we could, and we have. The microfabs are making a huge contribution. The NRA is starting to get decent comms gear, we have upgraded their squad and crew-served weapons, their chromaflage is better than the Hammers', their body armor and helmets are almost as good as ours, they have proper medibots. I could go on and on. The problem is-"

"The problem is," Sedova said, cutting him off, her finger stabbing out to make the point, "that the small stuff might help, and it does. It makes a big difference, but the small stuff does not win wars. Big stuff wins wars, and that we cannot make: battlesats, kinetics, landers, air-superiority fighters, large-caliber artillery, decoys, drones, and heavy armor. Christ! The list is endless. If the NRA had enough big stuff, this war would be all but over. They have enough people, they have the will, they hold the moral high ground, they have the support of close to 80 percent of those poor bastards out there in Kraa land, but they don't have the big guns. You can't win a war with an assault rifle, even if it's a Fed assault rifle."

"So tell me, Kat, was it a mistake?" Michael's face was grim.

"Coming here, you mean? Being part of Gladiator?"

Michael nodded.

Sedova looked at Acharya for a moment, then shook her head. "No, I don't think so," she said. "Like you said, we asked ourselves if we could make a difference, and we have. The landers, the microfabs, Kallewi's marines, they all help. It's just not enough. But that's the rational view, and my decision never was all logic; emotion played a big part, a very big part, if I'm honest. A large part of me wanted to kick the shit out of the Hammers, and now that I can, I'm happy… very happy doing what I spent so much time and effort training for. Otherwise?" She shrugged her shoulders. "Otherwise, I'd be sitting around while Fleet and the politicians wrung their hands and prevaricated. Wait for another five years until the Hammers rebuilt that antimatter plant of theirs and blow us all to hell? Not bloody likely! Anyway, I have my own reasons for wanting to make a go of Commitment."

"Let me guess," Michael said smiling broadly. "Trooper Zhu?"

"Yes, Trooper Zhu, and don't you say another word! My love life's my own business."

"Okay, okay," Michael said, putting his hand up to fend Sedova off. "What about you, Dev?"

"We've talked a lot about this, obviously," Acharya said, "and I agree with Kat. Doing what I became a Fleet officer to do-killing Hammers-is better than waiting to be slaughtered like some damn sheep. I worry about one thing, though."

"What?"

Acharya's face creased with concern. "Whether I'll feel the same way in a year's time, especially if there's no end in sight. I don't want to die here. I want to go home sometime," he added softly.

Don't we all, Michael said to himself. Don't we all. "I'd better go," he said, climbing to his feet. "Adrissa has a project for me. No idea what it is, but I'd better start off looking keen. When are you guys flying next?"

"Tomorrow," Sedova said. "The Hammers might be taking a break, but the NRA isn't."

"Anything interesting?"

Sedova shook her head. "Nah," she said, "the usual. Hammer forward operating bases. Hit and run. Get in quick, dodge the surface-to-air, beat the crap out of the Hammers, and head for home before the Kingfishers and their Alarics turn up. One day the buggers are going to wake up and mount standing air patrols over the Bretonville-Daleel front, and then we're in trouble. Until then…"

"Take care," Michael said, shaking hands with both of them.

"We will."

Back at his desk, Adrissa commed him to come to her office.

"Take a seat," she said when he entered what was little more than an alcove laser-cut out of the limestone and screened off by a flimsy plasfiber partition.

Michael sat. "Yes, sir?" he said.

"First, I know perfectly well that you'd rather be with the 120th, but trust me when I say that there are more important things for you to be doing right now. So please spare me an endless succession of transfer requests. I'll let you go when we're finished. Is that understood?"

Michael nodded. "Sir."

"Good," Adrissa said. "Now that's out of the way, let me talk about what I need. If you look at the holovid, you'll see that…"

"So that's the background. Here's what I want, Michael. I won't set a deadline because I want it done right. That doesn't mean you can loaf around daydreaming. Ideally, no longer than two weeks, but if you need more time, you can have it."

"Understood, sir," Michael replied.

"Good. There are two parts to the assignment. Part one: a detailed strategic assessment of the NRA's prospects of defeating the Hammers."

"No problems there, sir. I spend most of my waking hours thinking about that."

"I suspected as much. You have reason."

"Yes, sir. I have. Part two?"

"Part two is the bit you may not have spent so much time thinking about. If part one confirms what I think we already know-that the NRA cannot win unless things change-I want to know what they need to defeat the Hammers."

"Okay, Captain, but isn't that… isn't that, you know, just…"

"A meaningless exercise," Adrissa said with a faint smile. "Is that what you were trying to say?"

Michael's face reddened. "No, sir. That wasn't quite what I meant."

"Pleased to hear it, Lieutenant Helfort. Officers of my rank and experience are not in the habit of conducting meaningless exercises."

"No, sir. I know that, but even if we work out what the NRA needs, where does that get us? They are the best scroungers in humanspace. If they can steal something from the Hammers, they will. We know that."

"Yes, they are," Adrissa said, shaking her head. "They've turned it into a fine art. That operation last week was a killer. Eight complete Gordian surface-to-air missile batteries complete with reloads out of Kortenaer Defense Systems' plant. What a gem." She shook her head again, eyes wide in open disbelief. "And what about the convoy of trucks? Not once were they checked, not once. Hundreds of kilometers they covered, trundling along through the countryside cool as you like all the way to the NRA's front door. Unbelievable."