Bolos: Honor of the Regiment Part 11

"Bolo?"

"The failure of this unit is due to a progressive degradation of core technology circuitry," the Bolo said. "The only solution is the replacement of the circuitry."

Rheinhardt frowned, pulling on his chin. "I'm afraid that we lack the required technology."

"That was my a.n.a.lysis," the Bolo agreed.

"I guess we'll have to alter our plans," Rheinhardt muttered to himself.

"I understand your desire to utilize this unit in a manner most optimal."

Rheinhardt looked up. "Yes, I had rather- you're not in any pain are you?"

The Bolo did not reply immediately. Finally, it said, "In my years of military service I have come to understand pain, it indicates a lack of functionality or inability to complete my a.s.signed missions owing to a lack of organic equipment. In that regard I must confess that I am in a significant amount of pain."

"I am sorry. Is there anything we can do to help?"

"It is not the pain but the reduction in my computational capability which distresses me the most," the Bolo said. "I feel as though I have lost a large part of my intellectual functions."

Rheinhardt nodded understandingly. "I could see how that would be distressing."

"Indeed," the Bolo agreed. "Therefore I should like at the end of my service to provide the most optimal solution to the problems you, as my commander, find yourself facing."

"Your help would be phenomenal," Rheinhardt admitted.

"What aid I can give will require direct command supervision--in case my processors fail at a rate higher than currently antic.i.p.ated."

"That can be arranged."

"I hesitate to restate myself, Colonel, however in my progressive degradation, the only person who could safely ride with me would be yourself," the Bolo said.

"Are you certain?" General Marcks asked after Rheinhardt had delivered his report to the combined staff. They were in the wood-paneled room deep in Armee headquarters where staff briefings were given weekly. The members of the General Staff were arrayed on either side of a long mahogany table; General Marcks stood behind another table placed perpendicular. Colonel Rheinhardt's seat was nearest him on the left, General von der Heydte was seated opposite him. Staff officers stood against the wall patiently waiting their leaders' needs.

Rheinhardt shook his head. "I am not certain. The Bolo, however, is."

The response elicited an outburst of conversations around the table. "Preposterous!" "We'll never defeat the enemy without that machine!" "Less than a week, we can't be ready!"

"Gentlemen." General Marcks' voice was not raised but it created an instant silence. All eyes turned to him. "Colonel, what do you propose?"

"We cannot squander this opportunity, sir," Rheinhardt replied, rising to his feet again and spreading his attention between the General and the rest of the staff. "The Noufrench do not realize our predicament, so they will feel that we have the Bolo permanently. We should play upon that and produce a lasting peace-"

"Never!" "They'll never agree!" "Who could trust the Frogs anyway?"

Colonel Rheinhardt waited until the furor died down. "We shall have the Bolo destroy their tank production facilities, their aircraft factories and their s.p.a.ce communications links. After that, our own production will allow us to maintain superiority. They'll have to sue for peace."

"Madness!" "Insane!" "One tank against the entire Armee du Noufrance?"

Again Marcks' commanding presence quelled the outbursts. "It appears, gentlemen, that we have little choice. Either we take the chance or not. I would hate to leave his Eminence the Astral without a suitable inheritance. The lack of our vinelands west of the Neurhein will--if he turns out like his father--be a particular loss to him." He pursed his lips, then dropped his arm in a decisive chopping motion. "Karl, when can we move?"

I cannot trust my datalinks with the Quirthian networks. However, I am in the awkward situation of having to do so. All data indicates an a.s.sault force not delineated in my Commander's briefing. I must discern the accuracy of this data. The a.s.saulting force could be overwhelming in nature. I need more data . . .

The Commander spoke of a satellite network. I must obtain a connection to the link. I shall investigate the possibility of connecting to the Noufrench systems via this Quirthian datalink.

- II -.

You write to me that it's impossible, the word is not French.

-Napoleon Bonaparte

"I tell you, there is no chance that they can attack," General Villiers, Chef du Materiel for the Armee du Noufrance declared. The officers of the general staff of the Armee du Noufrance sat comfortably back from their dinner and sniffed at their Argmanacs.

"They do not have the supplies, the forward dumps, nor do they have sufficient numbers of weapons, particularly armored fighting vehicles," Villiers continued after a moment's contemplation. He tilted his gla.s.s upwards again.

"General, while I must agree that the Bayerische do not appear to have the equipment, nevertheless, I am convinced they plan to attack soon," General Lambert, Chef d'Attaque, replied firmly, pushing away his empty snifter.

Villiers sneered back at him. General Lambert met the gesture with a growing frown.

General Cartier, Chef d'Armee, rapped the table twice with his ivory letter opener. Silence descended. "Gentlemen. Let us hear what our head of intelligence has called us together for."

The General Staff of the Armee du Noufrance had been gathered at the behest of the Chef d'Intelligence, General Renoir. General Renoir frowned and dipped his head, as though ducking away from the center of attention.

"My chief computer scientist has informed me of recent attempts to infiltrate our military network. These attempts emanate from the Bayerische."

"They've never tried that before," Lambert said thoughtfully. "What could they hope to gain?"

"Apparently they desire to control our satellite network," Renoir replied.

"They could feed us false information!" "Garble our communications!" "Cut us off from the front lines!"

The letter-opener rapped on the tabletop again. Once. "Is there more, General Renoir?"

The intelligence officer nodded. "We have traced the efforts back to a very strange interface connection on the Bayerische milnet."

"Do we know the location?" Lambert inquired.

The others followed his thought, muttering, "Pre-emptive strike. Good idea."

Renoir shook his head. "We only know the location within the realm of the networks, not the physical location."

General Lambert frowned thoughtfully and bowed his head in contemplation. Something was nagging him; some memory half-forgotten strained for attention. Something from a boring old computer tech cla.s.s that reminded him of war strategy and tactics.

Renoir continued. "However, my scientists are of the opinion that the controlling computer on the network is not a Quirthian machine."

"Quirthian?" General Bosson, Chef du Personnel and not particularly computer sentient, asked in puzzled tones.

"The standard computer processes of the current age conform to architecture and logic laid down by Johann Vincent Quirthe," Renoir explained. "A non-Quirthian machine has never been made on this planet."

"Is it an alien?" Bosson wondered. One of the orderlies waiting against the walls sn.i.g.g.e.red.

Renoir frowned, shaking his head. "My people believe that it is of human origin."

. . . never been made on this planet. The nagging memory resolved itself. Lambert looked up suddenly, eyes gleaming. "It's a Bolo! They've got a Bolo!"

Pandemonium erupted. "There are none left!" "They never existed, just a legend!" "We're doomed! Doomed!"

General Cartier leaned forward to General Lambert, "Why would a Bolo be infiltrating our military networks?"

"They plan to destroy us, to feed us false intelligence," Renoir declared.

"The Bolo could ruin our supply system, jam up all ammunition and fuel movements, cripple us," General Villiers, Chef du Materiel, proclaimed.

"Sabotage our manpower allocations, place the wrong men in the wrong units!" General Bosson, Chef du Personnel, cried in alarm.

"But, General Renoir, you said it was attempting to gain access to our satellite network," Lambert said. "That means that you detected its intrusion."

Renoir shrugged. "The intrusion was most obvious. The Bolo may be a master war machine but it is clearly not able to handle the intricacies of our Quirthian computer architecture."

Lambert leaped out of his chair so vigorously that it toppled over behind him. His eyes gleamed expectantly as he spoke to General Cartier. "Mon General, this Bolo, can we not misdirect it, feed it false information? Control it?"

A smile worked its way up Renoir's lips to his eyes. "Mon Dieu! It is possible."

The room was filled with rows of computer displays over which intent technicians hunched, peering into the realm of data and working fanatically. The s.p.a.ce could have been refurbished warehouse, clumsily part.i.tioned into work areas. The room smelled just slightly of soiled sweat, a smell the air conditioning had failed to remove.

Several techies slept on cushions thrown on the floor in their cubicles, too tired to move to the cots which lined the wall.

General Renoir hovered at one end of the room, eyes puffy with fatigue. General Lambert lounged beside him, reading a technical specification with no deliberate speed. The center's manager, Yves Monchant, approached. Renoir stiffened, straightening the front of his uniform.

"Well?"

"We are ready."

"It took you long enough," Renoir muttered.

"Really Jean-Paul, I think your men should be congratulated," General Lambert chided him. "They have completed their task in less than forty-eight hours."

Renoir bit back a response. "At least the enemy appears not to have detected our efforts."

Monchant nodded. "There has been absolutely no indication that the Bolo has detected our work," he said. "All data flows and queries emanating from that site continue unabated."

"But now," Renoir said with a satisfied look in his eye, "the Bolo will be receiving information on non-existent troops and movements."

A technician rushed up to the center manager, a printout clutched in her hand. The manager huddled with the technician, muttered some encouragement and sent the technician away with a pat on her back. "Marie tells me that the Bolo continues its efforts to penetrate our satellite system."

Lambert frowned. "Why the satellite system?"

"Which part?" Renoir added.

The manager ran a hand wearily through his thinning hair. "That is the odd part. The Bolo is apparently attempting to access data from several stellar sensors, ones not pointed at the planet at all."

"Maybe it's confused," Renoir suggested.

"Are you sure it hasn't noticed your interference?" Lambert asked.

The manager shrugged with Gallic eloquence. "I cannot say for certain but there are no direct indications."

Another technician rushed up the manager. "Sir, the enemy machine is attempting to access figures on our nuclear capability."

"That's more like it!" Renoir said.

"Reactors?" Lambert asked.

"No sir, nuclear warheads. Missiles in particular."

General Alain Lambert, Chef d'Attaque of the Grand Armee du Noufrance turned to the center's manager with grim determination. "Monsieur, you must destroy that Bolo."

General Renoir chewed his lip thoughtfully as he recreated Lambert's reasoning. "A single nuclear strike on any of our cities would probably be enough to destroy the ecology."

He glanced speculatively at the Colonel of Operations. "I have no intelligence to indicate that the enemy has any nuclear weapons facilities. Such things are difficult to hide."

"They have a Bolo, is it not a nuclear-powered weapon?" General Lambert replied. "If they ordered it to self-destruct in one of our cities, would the result not be the same?"

"True," Renoir agreed reluctantly. "But, Alain, why would it be concerned about whether we had nuclear missiles?"

"It alters the equation," Lambert replied. "If we possessed nuclear missiles then we could launch a counterstrike which would destroy Bayern."

Renoir turned to the manager. "We must convince the Bolo that we have several nuclear missiles."

"Oui, monsieur," said the manager, scurrying over towards his technicians.

Renoir turned to Lambert. "I must see if we have any intelligence regarding a change in the enemy's stance on the use of nuclear weaponry."

Lambert shook his head. "You may not find it, it may merely be the Bolo's best solution to the orders given it."

"What orders?"

Lambert shrugged. "What if they ordered that machine to subdue us as best it could?"