John Ringo: Von Neumann’s War

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Mahoney said, cocking his M-240R. The R version of the machine gun was a special modification of the local machine shops. A water-filled shroud surrounded the barrel for the purpose of cooling. The fire rate of most modern machine guns was limited by the fact that when fired at high rates the barrel and breech would overheat. This caused various unpleasant effects from jamming to “cookoff” of the ammunition as it touched the super-hot breech to barrel warping, which could cause an explosion. Modern machine guns were, by and large, designed to be mobile and thus were “air-cooled.” But since the defense of the mountain had become a matter of bunkers and holding position, the machine guns had been retrofitted with the water-cooling shrouds. They could, effectively, be fired indefinitely without the need to use carefully controlled bursts and constant barrel replacements.

Thus the machine gun itself was set up on a box of ammunition the size of a large motorcycle. Jones figured if he ended up firing the whole box he should be able to take the rest of the day off. He watched the swarming horde for a moment as it crossed the mountain and dropped onto the city below. At the very top there was a plume of strange smoke, as if the mountain had suddenly erupted. That, too, was caught in the red light of the sun, making it appear to be lava spewing into the air.

“I think it’s time that the Greyhound started playing our song,” Mahoney muttered.

“Nah, it’s not that bad,” Jones replied. “Yet.”

“If that’s not a tempest at the gates I don’t know what is.”

“I got it,” Jones added after a moment. “I got it.”

“Got what, the clap?” Mahoney asked. He might be introspective when the enemy was out of sight, but when the probes were in view he was all business.

“What you were saying before,” Jones replied, excitedly. “We’re like, in a cave, right? Sort of. A bunker anyway. And the light’s shining on the probes, reflecting off of them. That was what you were talking about, right?”

Mahoney sighed. “I am surrounded by Philistines.”

“Now that I just don’t get,” Jones said, frowning. “I mean, we’re not even surrounded, yet, and those are like… alien probes. Is whatever you just said something like that?”

“Interesting,” Shane mused, tapping his mouse to bring up a readout.

“What?” Cady asked, leaning over from his own position.

Shane was much more used to leading from the front than from deep in the heart of a mountain. But any modern infantry officer was more than well versed on using computer networks for what the military termed “C3I,” communications, control, command and intelligence.

Technically Shane should have been using the C3I system in the command post to maintain control over the troops in his area. That area was defined as the distance of the weapons that he had at his command. Since all long-range weapons were at General Riggs’s command, that area wasn’t much. But he had Sergeant Major Cady to handle that and when all was said and done he had less than a platoon to manage. It didn’t take up a lot of his time. So he’d “expanded” the area, both informationally and terrain-wise, that he was viewing. In other words, he wasn’t just looking at the remaining sensors, visual and lidar, that were telling the general what the probes were doing, he was monitoring the whole spectrum.

“General,” the electronic warfare officer said, “probe transmissions have just picked up by fifteen percent. Pretty much across the board.”

“That,” Shane said, quietly, in response to Cady. “They’re generating like mad.”

“What does that mean ?” the general asked, spinning in his chair to look over at the EWO.

The command center had been designed by a local firm. It turned out to be the firm that had also designed every NASA control center since the Mercury capsules. So there was a very similar feel. The general’s position was two thirds of the way towards the back at a terminal with various other controlling officers and enlisted men scattered around. Shane, as one of the lowest priority positions, was towards the back and rear. On the other hand, it gave him a great view of the forward information screens and everyone else’s positions.

“Don’t know, sir,” the EWO admitted. “We don’t have a hard fix on how they talk, so we can’t exactly translate it.”

“Updating,” Shane said to Cady. He’d meant for it to be a quiet and personal conversation with his NCO. But it hit one of those dead silences that sometimes fall over a group and it rebounded around the room.

“Say again?” the general said, looking around. “Who said that?”

“Me, sir,” Shane replied, cursing himself. He wasn’t supposed to be looking at signal data at all. The glare that he got from Colonel Summers, the commander of the 82nd brigade, said it all. But he’d already stepped on his hooter; might as well jam it into the ground. “The signals picked up by about five percent when they got close to the lasers. They stayed that way until just a moment ago, then they really picked up. They got some information processed, probably what to do about lasers if they hit them again, and passed it around. Signal level is now back to nearly normal.”

“Good possibility,” the general said, spinning around to look over at the major. “Extrapolate.”

Damn, damn, damn. Surprise is in the mind of the commander, even the surprise of trying to answer a question. What was the update?

“Somewhere they have a higher level battle processor, sir,” Shane replied, after keying the controls so that he was talking directly to the general. He noticed right away that the general had keyed it for general distribution so he might as well have just yelled. “It might be distributed in the probes or it might be one of those big cities over in Europe. That processor told them that they had to do something about the lasers. So far we’ve only seen them tear stuff apart. There’s no reason that they wouldn’t have a higher level ability than we’ve seen. In Greenland we saw them begin destroying carbon to escape traps. Perhaps they’ll use a longer range weapon we haven’t seen before.” He paused for a moment as his mind raced.

“They’ll want to keep most of their systems as extractors. To change will take time. I would look for a group that falls away from the main body to modify itself and then goes for the first laser that fires.”

“Good possibility,” Riggs said, spinning back around. “Hammond,” he continued, looking over at the Information and Intelligence section, “keep an eye on that.”

“Roger,” the J-2 replied. “We won’t be able to code for it. We’ll have to use eyeballs.”

“Do it,” the general replied.

“Probes have entered Huntsville city limits,” the J-3 reporter said. “Approaching Phase Line Deadite.”

Shane smiled at that. When he’d seen the op-plan for the engagement, he laughed his butt off and wondered which staff weenie was an Army of Darkness fan and how they had gotten the codes past the general. A little digging turned up that it was General Riggs who was an Army of Darkness fan.

“Initiate Op-plan Ash when ten percent of the probes have crossed Phase Line Deadite,” Riggs said. “And may God be with the just.”

“Hmmm…” Richard mused, watching the alien probe slow down and then speed up as he tapped the keys of the laptop. “That seems… to have done it.”

“Dat’s nice,” Helena said. “But don’t you want it runnin’ full speed?”

“Absolutely,” Richard replied. “But if I can control one bot I can control many. Or, rather, the military can. Much as I hate giving my secrets to the military-industrial complex, this is one area where they are a utility. And this Dr. Reynolds who is a deputy secretary of defense seems to be an honorable man.”