The Weapon

  The Sufi. Decent people, almost as nice as the Bahá'í. They and the Bahá'í had come here first as a partnership, both being poor, smaller sects. They were willing to engage in force, and did so to protect their borders and often their Bahá'í neighbors. The only bad thing one could say about them is that they were sometimes a bit too eager to prevent incidents by stomping potential threats. As those potential threats were Shiits and Sunnis, I couldn't hold too much against them. The Sufis ran a good military, had decent tech and capabilities, and held half the air and space facilities. What should be done about the problem of the Sufis killing Shia and Sunni out of hand? I don't see what your problem is.

  The Amala. A newer, more recent offshoot of Islam, the Amala were trying to breed themselves into the majority. They were poor and starving and wretched, and would probably be better off dead. They were likely to achieve that, as the Shia hated them for breeding. Of course, the Shia hated everybody. The Amala were the least educated of the mostly dirt-stupid bunch, and paid for it. What do you call an Amala who can read at the level of a five-year-old? An intellectual.

  The Believers. Technically, "The Faithful of the One True God," a Baptist offshoot, but don't tell that to either group. I don't blame the Baptists for wanting nothing to do with them. The Believers had come here to despise science and technology (using stardrive to do so), and were "creation science" nuts. Their take on the Biblical Deluge was that the Earth had been surrounded by a huge sphere of atmospheric ice. God had moved the Earth from a 360-day year to a 365-day year, thereby melting the ice and flooding the world. Where the water had gone afterwards they never explain. The lack of the ice after that had increased radiation levels, thus aging the bones of the dinosaurs, who'd all drowned in the Deluge, so as to make those bones appear millions of years old to delude non-believers. This had been simultaneously done on millions of planets to make them all look old. I don't even want to begin to psychoanalyze that. They used imported technology and weapons, while denying that the basic science behind that equipment existed. Harmless, except for a desire to shoot anything not Christian, and convert anything Christian to their one, true faith. Notice a trend here? Oh, and they had a thing about homosexuality. They could claim with a straight face that a gay-oriented bar in a city was the cause of floods, earthquakes and Signs and Portents in the heavens. Ironically, their founder, Frederick Felts, had eventually been raped and beaten to death while incarcerated for the crime of attacking a "baby killer" (a doctor who performs abortions). An acceptance and agreement with his illogic seemed to be a requirement of membership in the cult. The Colonial British wore red tunics so that blood wouldn't show and ruin the morale of the troops. The Believers wear uniforms with brown pants. Enough said.

  Various legitimate but naïve sects of Christianity who'd moved here simply to live, then gotten stuck with the nutcases. I wasn't all that sorry for them—they bickered amongst themselves constantly in their "Christian Coalition," and spent more time debating the nature of God and the laws they should all live by than they did taking out the trash. If I'd ever wondered about the human race before, now was the time. How many Coalition troops does it take to change a light tube? Fifty. One to do it, and forty-nine to argue over the doctrine.

  The Mowahhidoon, often called "Druze," which they don't like. They're a very old offshoot of Islam, but no longer Islamic. They keep the details of their religion secret. They don't marry outside the faith and don't accept converts. The only thing they were doing wrong was existing, as far as most of the other sects were concerned. Gods, what a world. How many Mowahhidoon are there? Enough.

  The Zoroastrians. Another decent group. They were too few to be a real threat, even had they chosen to be, and too few to survive. They were taking the better part of valor and leaving the planet as they could, for UN owned orbitals and deep space habitats, or for safer homes. That wasn't good enough for their Shia and Believer neighbors, who shot at the remainder whenever the urge took them. The joke was unfair, but had an element of truth to it: have you heard about the Mtali Zoroastrian battle flag? A white circle on a white background.

  That was it for major faiths. However, each faith had up to fifty different factions within, of various political leanings, moral opinions on cooperation with others and within the group, etc. I won't bore you with that. Frankly, I'm not sure I understand it. It dealt with all those subtle and mystical things that might require you to kill your brother-in-law and rape your sister in order to save their souls. Important but complicated stuff. It's top secret. I wouldn't want to give you wrong info and have you kill someone who only deserved a beating.

  Thank God and Goddess the Jews had been smart enough to stay away. I understand that it had briefly been considered by a joint Israeli-American Jewish group, who had seen the inevitable future and shied away, to settle relatively peacefully and reasonably on New Jerusalem. A practical people, the Jews. And of course, tiny Kuwait had sponsored the Ramadan colony and limited immigration to Muslims who didn't measure diplomacy in kilograms of explosive. I wonder why they had seen the pending strife that the system would fall into, while the UN political scientists hadn't?

  Maybe it wasn't sheer poli-sci stupidity, although military science types like myself have always detested the self-imposed ignorance of our civilian counterparts in the field of human relations. It may have been bribery and lack of concern on the part of the Colonial Commission. I still bet the poli-scis had a hand in it, as they had in most of the failed "Republics" in Africa in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, leading up to the Expansion off Earth.

  So, into this ball of snakes had come the experts from the UN, decreeing that a solution must be found, and that solution must be peaceful in nature. As peaceful solutions are only possible with people inclined to be peaceful and reasonable, and as the groups in question were neither, that was a failure from the beginning. Being stubborn and conservative in its stupidity, the UN not only beat the dead horse, but tried to motivate it with speeches, then offered education and infrastructure to it. Financial aid was poured in, to promptly be used to smuggle in weapons and advisors to escalate the struggle. Then the benevolent protectors of the human future (sorry, I'll lay off the sarcasm) had brought in peacekeeping forces, oxymoron that that term is. As there was no peace, attempts to keep it were futile. That brought us up to our involvement.

  We didn't tell anyone then, but a lot of people figured out afterwards, why we bothered. After all, we're a neutral star nation, and plan to stay that way. People come to us with money for our services, so what need have we to go elsewhere on imperialistic junkets? The happy, comfortable rich rarely have a need to squabble over leavings.

  Well, think about what I mentioned earlier: we had wealth, independence, freedom, and were a huge drain on the UN for that reason. We were a threat to the accepted wisdom and status quo, by doing what they said was impossible and dehumanizing—to whit, being what we were. We were less than one percent their population. We had a military with first class training, and no realtime encounters to test ourselves or train us that extra crucial bit. So we sent a small contingent along to get that training and do live-fire tests of our prospective enemy. We needed a low intensity shooting war; we went to Mtali.

  We were fortunate in a couple of regards. The mission commander was brigadier Charles Richard ("Ree Shard"), Third Mob was commanded by Naumann, who not only knew how to use Operatives, but was one himself. Frequently, the mission and skills of elite forces are unknown to the very officers expected to use them. Sad, but it's the norm. Even worse, those officers often aren't interested, as their goal is to generate good reports so as to get promoted. Naumann and I thought alike; we didn't care about reports, we just wanted to kill things. He defined our area of operations, we defined our own OPLANS, and he gave us the space and the support we needed to kill the factions' terrorists in huge numbers. Richard wanted the best results with the lowest friendly casualties, and listened to the advice of his subordinates about their parti
cular fields of expertise.

  The UNPF had been screwing up, as usual. Not because it was incompetent, although it was mostly trained to suppress urban insurrection, but because the politicians insisted on defining operations from up to twenty days away and without visiting the planet. They decreed that no hunt could be made for the upper ranks and organizers of the factions. Probably, that was because targeting foreign tics and dips would leave those gutless fucks open to retaliation.

  They said no hunting. Our Citizens Council is made of sterner stuff. We hunted. We succeeded. What the UN took twelve Earth years to screw up militarily, or more accurately, masturbate up, we resolved in six Earth months. Cut off the heads of the hydra, it grows new heads. Cut out the heart, grill it and eat it, the heads die.

  3rd Mobile Legion was tasked with holding the central district. That's ten thousand troops for two million residents. 3rd Mobile Assault Regiment, plus extra aviation support, held the capital, Attaturk. They did it by taking the city sector by sector and being ruthless. Anyone who faced them, died. They killed close to 15,000 Mtalis. Since the Mtalis and the UN had accounted for 300,000 over twelve Earth years, our count was far more humane, far more economical, and allowed the system to recover faster. They took each sector in turn, and exterminated the vermin.

  While Mob pacified the city, Special Warfare Blazer Regiment probed, patrolled and secured the rural areas. While they did that, Black Ops ran reconnaissance and baited the factions. We'd go out in squads or even fireteams, dare them to attack us, then mash them to paste. If we felt it necessary (we usually did), we called in gunships, artillery and orbital strikes. We managed to keep collateral casualties to a minimum, too. But I'm ahead of myself.

  The Citizens' Council and the Strategic Staff decided we needed the experience. They decided this would be the place to get it, despite the putrid taste of kissing the UN to accomplish it. They drew up a budget, a plan and the orders, then handed them down for us to do with as best we could.

  I had advance notice of this little jaunt. Officially, I mean. I was told to get my squad ready and be prepared to operate in support of 3rd Mob by ourselves while the rest of the deployed force—about a third of the regiment—would support the Legion. An independent command, even if as an attached unit. I felt drunk for a couple of days. Then I sobered up, realizing people's lives depended on my every word as never before. Still, it was powerful.

  There were plenty of hints that we were going. The Council discussed it. UN reps were invited to give us assessments and input on the war, excuse me, "engagement," and what was needed. That should have been enough for anyone. Then, everyone got told to check their gear top to bottom. Would you believe half or more of the Forces were surprised? Would you believe half or more of the people in elite combat units (Mobile Assault) were upset at the idea of leaving home? They even complained about how it would affect their sports, schools, etc. It made me wonder why they joined the military.

  I made one very good decision. I hit Logistics early and ordered everything we might need, in triple quantities. Naumann signed from his end, Erson from his and I faced off with the bean counters.

  I was told, "I don't care if you do have authorization for all this stuff, I am not letting this quantity of material go." That from a captain at Legion Logistics. Matt "Yankee" Blackman. An idiot controlled by his anger, who drank too much and was in crappy shape despite his burly physique. His office had the accoutrements of an officer from the First US Civil War, hence his affected nickname. "I have to maintain inventory, in case we get an order in."

  "You have an order," I told him. "Right here. I need the stuff."

  "And what if I get an inspection team in here? I won't have sufficient quantities on hand," he said.

  "So you tell them it was drawn and show them the restock orders," I said. How stupid was this clown going to be?

  "No," he said, shaking his head and screwing up his face. "I'm the word on logistics and I say 'no.'"

  I did the only thing I could. I said, "Yes, sir," and left.

  Then I went to Erson, who called up the chain. Then I went back over to Logistics. Blackman looked at me as I opened the door and said, "What the fuck do you want?" Then his phone beeped.

  He stared at it, then at me, then at it. I said, "I think it's for you."

  He snarled and turned the screen away from me. I heard him say, "Legion Logistics, Captain Bla— Yes, sir . . . Yes, sir . . ." Then he activated the hush field, but I'd seen what I needed to. He was "Yes, sir"ing and nodding. As soon as he disconnected, he muttered to one of his NCOs, who nodded. Blackman disappeared while the senior sergeant, Briggs was his name, took care of me. He winked and smiled as I left.

  Sure enough, a week later when the word came down to prepare, everyone hit logistics. All the savvy commanders had already cleaned out every depot on the surface or in the Halo. What was left over was dregs. The latecomers cleaned out what they could get, threw tantrums when told the drain was so far back that the manufacturers were backlogged and an emergency order couldn't get them what they needed. Some few took advances against budget, and in the case of one commander, a highly illegal but effective loan against unit assets, to buy from civilian sources and hope the budget would catch up. The rest paid out of pocket or their troops did, or went without.

  It was a bit shocking to me. Even with all our constant stressing of the essentials, of never being short of critical materials, here in the best military in space, people could get lazy and screw up royally. Even here, I would have to fight my own system as an enemy to get what I need. I thought about what would have happened if I hadn't had gold collars like Naumann and Erson willing to back me up. After we started fighting on Mtali, I thought about it again and shivered. Even with all that prep, I was short of what I needed. I would have been screwed if I hadn't had good officers above me. And if it was that bad for us, what was it like in the bad militaries?

  The mess was repeated as we processed and deployed. It seems as if everyone's family had an emergency come up around that time, and that does happen. Murphy's Law. Also, minor issues become emergencies when put under stress. Then there were troops missing critical skills, or materials, or documents. Delay after delay. My troops got through quickly, but we had to wait for our support.

  Eventually, we boarded our boats. It was a circus. Families, friends, lovers, the media . . . we went in early, faces painted and netted, tac helmets on. It made us look "gung ho." It also hid our faces from prying eyes. We clattered up the ramps early, our gear already stowed except for our personal luggage. We lifted while everyone else was waving bye-bye, and spent our first div aboard ship swapping out crappy bunks in our billet for good ones from elsewhere. Also working fire extinguishers, better vid gear and anything that could be used as privacy screens. The poor bastards who came aboard last would have to use baling wire and strapping tape to hold their bunks together.

  * * *

  We started fighting the factions aboard the transports, by plotting. It's never too early to start winning a war. Brigadier Richard consulted with unit commanders, and we all gave input. The rest of them (except Erson and Naumann) tried to shut me out. Politics again. Certainly, I was an officer. I was a unit commander. I also was the youngest, newest one with the smallest unit, and an attached one, not a line unit. Never mind that I'd had more training than any six of the others. That wasn't a factor in their thinking.

  So, they kept talking over me, and I let them. I'd played this before. The suggestions were good, no doubt. They lacked imagination, though. Get maps of the area, each from different groups so as to maintain objectivity. Study maps in detail. Review terrain. Get a political profile of the planet. Research background info of the friendly and enemy commanders. Teach history of the dispute (that was a very good idea, actually, and one that's often overlooked by junior officers). The problem was, all that would bore the troops.

  After they wound down, and were looking at each other in smug satisfaction, Naumann addressed me.
"You've been quiet so far, Warrant Chinran. Anything you think we may have overlooked?"

  I could play politics, too. "I asked Captain Rutledge and Major Maron for advice, and put together a list with their help." I flipped up a screen on my comm and read, "Post rank charts of the various factions for the troops to study. Make sure the info is distributed to every hatch and bunkroom, all over the mess, and the latrine doors. We want to take the intelligence to the troops, not make them dig for it. That way it will seep in whether they want it to or not. Have the mess start serving local style meals to get everyone acclimated. Adjust the ship's gravity and environment for exercises, and have anyone who'll be doing local contact work on basic vocabulary. It'll make it easier to deal with the locals, and can be a good source of intel if they listen for key words. Do advanced language studies for the Blazers—my people already have primers on the four main languages—and offer it for any of the regular troops who want it. Use children's vids; they're easy to follow and impart basic vocabulary fast. Especially, use kid's books with myths and legends. It's the best way to gain insight into a people quickly. As far as equipment, have Documents print up some playing cards with pictures of the basic infantry, arty, armor and special purpose troop gear. Designate the royal cards after ranking officers, and list specs and numbers on the number cards. And if they're going to gamble anyway, create trivia cards so they can bet on who knows the answers."

  There was a stunned silence for several seconds. Several officers looked sheepish, a few embarrassed. One or two grinned in appreciation and nodded, and a couple shot murderous glares at me, that I returned with bored but appraising locks to their eyes. They knew who'd be getting the points, the pips and the medals from this op.

  The mission was entitled "Operation Restore Liberty" by the UN. Our part was dubbed "Operation Galactic Support." I swear that the first time I get to decide, I'll be honest with the troops and call the mission "Operation Goat Rope." Or maybe just "Operation Dogfuck." Yes, nothing ever goes as planned, but this hadn't really been planned. More precisely, every unit and political need had its own plan, which it assumed was The Plan. Everyone assumed they could pull enough strings to get what they wanted. Everyone got half. It was always the wrong half.