Chapter 19 - Hot Times

"Casualties? Polar Bears first,” Lieutenant Kawamori demanded of the AI. She and the recruit company were standing in the main assembly room of the martello, helmets in hand.

"Lieutenant Kawamori, all Marine recruits were notionally killed, forty-seven by cannon fire from the caravels, twenty-three by triggering mines and the remainder by machine gun fire from Martello Two-Nine-Three-Seven's trenches.”

"And the 'Opfor'?”

"Lieutenant Kawamori, Opposition Forces sustained notional casualties of twenty-nine caravels plus complete crews. No other notional casualties. Some of the caravel crews might have survived, but probability is high that they would have been unable to continue the battle due to wounds.”

"Congratulations, Cadet Sergeant-Major Bachelor,” the Lieutenant offered. “I believe it's customary for the losers in a war game to buy the winners a drink.”

"We'll need to get special permission,” Daniel responded. “None of the men who defeated the training company are old enough to drink.”

With that, the thirty who had manned the trenches walked in, battlesuited and helmets in hand. The walls lit up to show video of those members of the Thule Corps of Cadets who had operated the Ford Pintos. Of those who had defeated the grown-ups, none were men. From the pigtails on one cute little red-coated charmer in the de Gaulle simulator room, the recruits could tell that not all of them were even male.

It was a humbling lesson.

It was another hot night in the Beauty Saloon. The recruits who had just been bested were dressed in their Full Dress uniforms, the cadets in their red coats. At Samantha's suggestion, the celebrants substituted mocktails for the more usual cocktails for the cadets.

General Michael Deschenes showed up for the party, bringing with him his former wife and now straw boss Penny, one other youthful and quite pregnant concubine of his named Rachelle, and his daughter Diana. All three of the females he was escorting were nude aside from sandals. As soon as Diana arrived, she scurried over to Daniel's side and gave him an impressive kiss.

While Diana dragged a thoroughly willing Daniel onto the dance floor, Michael stopped to have a brief word with Judy Kawamori. The lieutenant was sitting, Manhattan in hand, at the same table as Samantha.

"Buy you a drink, Sir,” offered Samantha as Michael and Penny settled into chairs.

"Bronx for me. Penny and Rachelle need something nonalcoholic.”

"I'm drinking a Baby Belle - orange juice, pineapple juice, a little grenadine and some lemon-lime soda.” Samantha held up her drink, garnished with a spear of pineapple.

"Looks elegant,” Penny said admiringly. She turned to Rachelle. “Interested?”

Rachelle nodded happily.

As they waited for their drinks order to arrive, Michael quizzed Samantha. “The 123^rd is returning from Hesperus tomorrow. Do we have any party for them set up?”

"Yes, Sir. Being as we're into December, it'll have a Christmas theme. The unassigned concubines will be dressed up as this.” A thirty-centimetre-high hologram of a female wearing bell-festooned antlers appeared on the tabletop. The figure wore a green ultra mini miniskirt that barely covered her pudenda, and a leather sleeveless jacket with lamb's-wool trim around the collar. It left the breasts bare.

"The kids will wear this.” She called up a second hologram. 'This' proved to be an elf outfit with pointy ears, pointy soft-soled elf shoes and a pointy green elf hat with red trim. It screamed 'cute'. The nanites coloured the child's skin a hue of Lincoln green below the neck. There were no trousers or jacket with the ensemble - Samantha and her entertainment committee were not into cladding kids when it really wasn't necessary.

"As for the schedule, the troops will be released just before lunch. After a welcome-back meal here with their straw bosses, which I expect will end up in a delightfully enthusiastic orgy, I'll give them a chance to relax with a concert. I have no idea what my darling Mickey and her music club have planned, so that'll be a surprise. Then the party itself, where fresh appetizers should fill us up. Unless you'd like to fill me up with something else....” She batted her eyes at him as seductively as possible.

"You could talk me into it,” Michael admitted. “Back to the meal, what have you laid on?”

"Typical Christmas fare. Roast turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, mashed turnips, cole slaw, giblet gravy, and for dessert, a choice of mincemeat, pumpkin and apple pie. Oh, and as a special request from some British among us, Christmas pudding. Y'know, I've never had Christmas pudding before.”

"Neither have I,” Penny confessed. “I'll have to try that.”

"I'm told that there's a lucky penny in there somewhere. Don't know what you get for that.”

"Laid?” Rachelle guessed. It was the first word she'd uttered since arriving at the Beauty Saloon.

"And if the lucky finder is under 14?” challenged Judy Kawamori.

"Um... a raincheck?” ventured Rachelle. Everyone else at the table snickered at the thought.

Around them, the typical party atmosphere prevailed as the Polar Bears one by one slipped away for a few minutes only to return with one or more of their concubines.

Hesperus hung like a jewel in the sky outside Commodore Swanson's office view port. The swirling sand made fascinating colourful bands that looked not unlike Saturn or Jupiter, the solid matter behaving not unlike the gases of those giant planets.

The Commodore turned to the black-clad OOD's image that appeared on a convenient stretch of wall near the viewport. “Sir,” the lieutenant advised, “we've received a communications drone from the Bluegill. A Swarm task force is on its way.”

Swanson felt his stomach give a lurch. “Do we have an ETA?”

"Twelve to fourteen hours. The area in which they'll likely emerge is a fairly narrow cone.”

"I'm on my way. Alert every ship present at Hesperus, alert the Brigade. All ships and stations go to Condition Red. Prepare to send a message drone to Thule - I want it to proceed as soon as I give the order, not a second before.”

"Aye, aye, Sir.”

Swanson grabbed his black kepi and raced for Orbital Control.

Orbital Control functioned during battle as a super Combat Information Centre. There was a second CIC room two decks above this one, functioning as the control for Battle Station Ralph Alpher's defence systems. These two compartments sandwiched the AI compartment and a large fusion reactor. Girdling the Alpher Station CIC was an emergency transporter nexus room and the Medical Inspection Room with a dozen med tubes. This entire core of the battle station was armoured and shielded, and capable of limited functionality in the event that the systems through the rest of the station should fail.

As Swanson hustled into Orbital Control, he heard the voice of Colonel Harben, the Station Commander, who was already in the station CIC two decks above. “Launch interceptors?”

Swanson's aide, Lieutenant Cielsowski, shook her head. “Not recommended,” she advised the Commodore. “They'll be too low on fuel when the get to the interception point, and besides they could be needed here in orbit. Recommend launching interceptors from outposts Foxtrot Zero Seven, Zero Eight and Zero Nine in six hours.”

So far, they'd had twelve outposts built, evenly scattered in a common orbit between that of the farthest planet and the Hesperusat astrosphere. Eventually there were supposed to be another forty-eight, but these twelve were all that was available. Like the battle stations around Hesperus, each had missile batteries, a wing of Starfighters and another wing of Star Arrows. Another twelve outposts were in an advanced stage of construction, but still didn't have an AI or fusion reactor. The outposts F07, F08 and F09 covered the arcing cone where the Sa'arm was likely to emerge from hyperspace.

Swanson saw the logic immediately. “Make it so. Take those fleet units currently scouting the system's rim, and line them along this corridor. I want to start hitting the ships as soon as they appear on our sensors.”

As Cielsowski began ordering the fleet units into position, Swanson called up the message from the drone to see if there was anything else useful.

There was. The enemy fleet consisted of fourteen ships: one Voluptas hive sphere, one Vesta battleship, two Vervactor cruisers, six Venti destroyers, one Volturnus cargo ship and a trio of Vacuna scouts. Impressive, but not invulnerable.

Just time for one personal item. “Connie,” he subvocalized.

The AI connected him to his concubine. “Yes, hon?”

"Do me a favour and get your cute little butt into the sickbay, before we send all your fellow concubines there. Hold their hands, tell them they're safe.”

"And how safe will we be in Sickbay?” Connie challenged nervously.

"As safe as I'll be.”

Connie paused long enough to bite her lip. “And how safe will you be?” Not waiting for a reply, she started to do her master's bidding, urging the concubines of Battle Station Ralph Alpher to their designated shelter.

Aboard the cruiser Ajax, the gong started sounding her crew to General Quarters. Bodies pounded down corridors, point defence guns were powered up, battle suits were donned. All the while, the sergeants bellowed - the evolution could never be done quickly enough for the Navy.

Captain Edelio Liamakeros strode onto the bridge, not wasting any time. Damn, he thought, why do we always have alerts when I'm with my concubine? He settled himself into his command chair, activated the chair's acceleration restraints and plugged his suit into the chair's life-support plugs.

"Situation?” he snapped.

"Incoming Swarm,” his first officer advised. “ETA fourteen hours somewhere along this arc.” The image on the screen changed from the exterior view forward, to a visual representation of the Hesperusat star system. An arc outside the second gas giant glowed red, gradually fading as it stretched into the system. “We've been ordered to take up a position here.” A blinking red light appeared, maybe halfway between the farthest point and the line where the cone faded to blackness.

"Time until we're in position?” Liamakeros snapped.

"Twelve hours at current rate,” the navigator advised.

"Ship-wide,” Liamakeros ordered. The communications rating nodded. “All hands, this is the Captain,” he intoned. “We are going to be having playmates in about fourteen hours. Take your time, get ready for them. Double-check your weapons systems, ensure that all loose gear in your compartments are secure. Set condition Modified Afirm. I want all hands into suits, including concubines, twelve hours from now. They're coming loaded for bear. Let's be disciplined and prepared. That way, we'll be more than they can handle.”

Not bad, he reflected. It had only taken them five minutes to go from routine cruising status to General Quarters, Condition Afirm. Condition Afirm meant nobody could move from one compartment to the next - Modified Afirm meant you could go from compartment to compartment, but you had to close the door behind you promptly as you went through, one at a time.

It was going to be a long fourteen hours. He ordered two out of three in each compartment to get some rest where they were.

On the surface of Hesperus, the 122^nd Brigade, really just a third of a brigade as most of their troops were still in recruit training on Thule, was scrambling to meet an enemy who might not even make it there, and might show up anywhere on the planet. Hesperus was a large planet, about the size of Earth, and there weren't many Marines to cover the potential landing sites.

The air wings prepared A-20 ground attack craft, F-50 fighters and Panthers for the big show. To protect themselves, each crewman wore a full battle suit with helmet and gauntlets, secured against the atmosphere. As on a US Navy carrier, they bore colours determining what their role was, on stripes down the pants and on the helmet from visor back to the rear of the docking collar. Ordnancemen with red stripes raced to affix bombs on the hard points on the A-20s' wings, while purple-striped fuel handlers filled both underwing drop tanks and internal tanks.

The armoured battalion raced to check out their machines and hustle them out of the tank barns. The lessons of the destruction at Hickam Field in Hawaii on December 7, 1941 had not been forgotten: to prevent sabotage, the aircraft had been clustered together. As a result, a mere 27 Nakajima B5N “Kate” Japanese bombers had been able to wreak havoc far out of proportion to their numbers. Nobody wanted the Rommels concentrated in one convenient location for the Swarm to wipe out with a single well-placed bomb.

Infantry squads dispersed across the planet. Near each squad's slit trenches sat a transporter nexus, ready to transfer them in the highly probable circumstance that the actual landing zone was elsewhere.

"Sitrep?” Commodore Swanson ordered, his tone clipped due to the tension he was under.

His command staff, clustered with him around the tactical table, responded, starting with his S-2. “New message drone received from the Bluegill. No change in ETA, but the likely area to emerge from hyperspace has narrowed down. Ships have been redeployed accordingly. Countdown is now one hour, fifteen minutes.”

"Fleet status?”

Like his Intelligence counterpart, S-3 had the needed information at his fingertips - or at least at his subvocal link to the AI. “Ships assigned to intercept are approaching designated zones. All reporting ETA on time to intercept incoming enemy fleet.”

"Ships assigned to intercept, and ships assigned for Hesperus orbital support?”

His S-3 pointed to the predicted entry point, and then at Hesperus on the tabletop map of Hesperusat. “Interception fleet consists of cruisers Ajax and Hector, light cruisers Lyon and Belfast, destroyers Zambia, Morocco and Saipan, corvettes Pendennis Castle, Rayleigh Castle and Scarborough Castle. Orbital fleet consists of light cruiser Palermo, destroyer Zulu, corvette Key Largo, assault ships Tripoli and Kearsarge, fire-support ship Barnegat, and carrier Howland.”

The fleet was far too small for Swanson's comfort. He'd love to have his mitts on two more heavy cruisers and a President-class carrier, but he'd just have to live with what he had. At least he hoped he'd be able to live with that - the alternative to living was not something he cared to contemplate.

Even so, the two assault ships had minimal anti-ship armament, and the fire-support ship was designed for shore bombardment, not fleet actions. Even the carrier was almost toothless, her squadrons being located on the surface. If enough ships broke through the ambush, he'd have to send these ships elsewhere, trying to keep the bulk of Hesperus between them and the Swarm to avoid detection.

"And the non-combatant ships?” Swanson demanded.

"We've sent the Arthur C. Clarke and the assault transports La Grange and Lanier, with the Caldecot Castle as escort, to the refuelling station at the gas giant Hesperusat Four. Between the armament on the refuelling station and the Caldecot Castle, that should give them enough firepower to cover their escape if needs be.”

"Do we have any PC's in-system?” Swanson thought there were none, but he remembered what his daddy used to say when he thought the kids weren't listening: “You know that Think thought? Think thought he farted but he shit.”

S-3 confirmed Swanson's memory. “All three PC's are currently on advanced scouting missions, looking for the nearest Swarm-infested planet. Apparently Bluegill found one.”

On board the Arthur C. Clarke, the scientists could do little more than sit and sweat. Lieutenant Payne bore down on them to ensure that all crews' biopacks were fully charged with fresh oxygen scrubbers, fully-charged batteries (although they'd have to be in the suits for decades to expend a full battery charge), sterile drinking water in the bottles and heating and cooling systems ready to go. He then sent them through the ship checking on stores of first-aid supplies, backup spacesuits and biopacks, and other emergency gear. It wasn't really necessary - the AI kept tabs on that - but it kept them from cracking under the stress.

Cracking under the stress was something they wanted their captain to do, not themselves. After all, making Captain Todmorton crack was their hobby.

So, after Payne had run out of even borderline “useful” things for his division to do, Captain Todmorton was astonished to discover four men race onto his bridge. The lunatics were dressed in banana-yellow jodhpurs. Their shirts and hats that bore the crest of the long-defunct Whiting Brothers chain of Route 66 gas stations were a matching shade of yellow, the wording stitched in red. They carried buckets and squeegees, and proceeded to “wash” the forward view screen, “check the oil”, and “check the tire pressures”. Finally they announced that the gas tank was now full. They were out in less than two minutes by the clock, with a precision that a Formula One team couldn't have beaten. As they departed, they bid Toddy “drive safe!” on his interrupted trip.

Toddy stood there for a moment, mouth agape in astonishment at witnessing the latest antics of his Sciences Division. Finally he shut his jaw and turned to his executive officer, Lieutenant Barry Bothington. “Just now. Did you just see anything... unusual? Anything at all?”

"No, Sir. Nothing unusual.” Nothing, Barry reflected, that was unusual for the Clarke. He was grateful for Payne's unique ability to defuse the tension from a high-stress situation.

Through hyperspace, a message drone winged its way at maximum speed from Hesperus to Thule, bearing its warning message that the Swarm was back, and loaded for bear.