Bolos: Honor of the Regiment Part 12

Renoir was horrified. "We must find a way to destroy that machine."

Lambert nodded. "Go, Jean-Paul, get your information. I can oversee operations here."

Relieved, General Renoir left. General Lambert found a chair and took possession of it. Some moments later the manager approached him, looking more relaxed.

"Good news, General," the manager reported. "We have fed the Bolo information that we have twenty thirty-megaton missiles armed and ready for immediate use."

"Did it make any response?"

The manager nodded. "Yes, most odd, it wanted to know the hyperbolic range of the missiles."

"Hyperbolic range?"

The manager shrugged. "If you like, I can get the expert over here but I understand that the Bolo wanted to know the range of the missile fired nearly straight up. It wasn't worried about re-entry points."

"It has laser-mounted anti-missile capabilities," Lambert explained.

"Really?" the manager was impressed. "Even after nearly three hundred years buried underground?"

"Perhaps," Lambert said. "What can you tell me about your efforts to disable the machine?"

"Well, we have found some Quirthian sequences result in a longer response time from the Von Neumann architecture," the manager said. "My top technician believes that these sequences cause the machine to experience a high error rate. He's convinced that the machine must be a multi-processor system utilizing a polling mechanism-"

A technician rushed up to the manager. "Sir, the Bolo has not responded in over two seconds!"

I have penetrated the enemy's computer network. The logic systems applied to their computers cause me an increased work load. I have been experiencing increased problems in de-multiplexing this form of data.

However, I have initiated a successful search for the location of the enemy's satellite control network and have learned about the enemy's missile capabilities.

I believe that I can arrange several of my subordinate neural networks to simulate a single Quirthian computational strand. My attempts to obtain concrete satellite data have not yet been successful. There is an 85% chance that with the pseudo-Quirthian strand I shall be able to obtain all the satellite data I require.

I am concerned that I may not be able to carry out my orders in a manner which would meet with the complete approval of my Commander. However, my a.n.a.lysis of the situation indicates only one course of action with a probability of success of 75%.

My combat circuitry is failing at the predicted rate. My survival center circuitry is failing at a higher than predicted rate, but this is not cause for undue alarm as there is only a .07% chance that this unit will continue beyond the antic.i.p.ated 146.7 hour total failure limit.

All that matters is the success of my mission.

The darkened staff room was illuminated only by the map projected on the far wall. The map was marked TOP SECRET. Colonel Rheinhardt aimed a laser pointer at the map. It had been barely fifty hours since he had been ordered to plan the a.s.sault. Several officers lining the walls slumped awkwardly and even the ever-energetic Major Kruger wilted in a chair. Rheinhardt felt none of it. His words were incisive, his mind clear.

"That blue line indicates the path a.s.signed for our Bolo. Its mission will be simple. First it will penetrate to Nouparis and destroy their power center--Giramonde Gros Industrie, Aeromechanique Industrie, and the Armorie de la Troisieme Provence.

"Then it will move north," he traced the course with his pointer, "here to the main depot of the Noufrench Armee, destroying their supply and replacement dumps as well as their high echelon repair facilities.

"Finally, it will engage the Fourth Armored Division, targeting its armored fighting vehicles and munitions." Colonel Rheinhardt flicked his pointer to another area. "That action will be timed to coincide with an attack on the division placed directly in front of the Fourth Armored Division. Our armored divisions will be placed for a breakthrough. The main thrust of the breakthrough will be south to the capital, Nouparis. A secondary thrust will place a large restraining force behind the enemy's northern forces.

"We may be able to force the surrender of those forces, but I believe it will not matter. With the capture of their capital, the piercing of their defenses and the destruction of their strategic industrial base, I do not believe they will be in a position to pursue a military solution." Rheinhardt flicked off his laser-pointer and signalled the orderly to turn on the lights. "Questions?"

"When do you plan to unleash this offensive?" General Marius asked.

"The timing of the plan is dictated by the state of the Bolo," Rheinhardt replied. "The offensive will start in two hours."

"What!" "Impossible!" "You're mad!" "We'll never manage!"

Rheinhardt rapped the table with his pointer. "Gentlemen! Please recall that the initial part of the offensive is being carried out solely by the Bolo," he told them. "It is not scheduled to engage the Fourth Division for another fifty-four hours."

"That's still too little time," General Marius bellowed, face flushed with anger.

"It is all the time we have," Rheinhardt replied. "The Bolo has indicated that it will suffer irreversible systems failure within the next one hundred and seventeen hours."

"General Marius," General Marcks said, "why can we not launch an offensive within the next three days? Our units are properly placed, are they not?"

"The units, yes," Marius agreed, "but the munitions-"

"The offensive will take no more than five days," Colonel Rheinhardt said. "I believe that all units are equipped for two days' worth of combat already?"

"That's true," Marius admitted unhappily. "However-"

"That gives you at least four days before the units will require reprovision, Marius," General Marcks interrupted. "Are you trying to tell me that we cannot do that?"

General Marius felt himself perspiring under the scrutiny of the General Staff. Finally, with a sigh, he said, "Yes, sir, we can do it."

"Excellent!" General Marcks scanned the other officers. "Are there any other objections?" The General Staff fidgeted nervously under his keen eye. "Very well," he said. "Colonel Rheinhardt, you are hereby authorized to engage in Operation Totalize."

Rheinhardt saluted, bringing his heels together in a loud click. "H-hour is set for twenty-two hundred hours," Rheinhardt informed the group. "I shall be in the Bolo. If communications are lost, my a.s.sistant, Major Kruger, will be able to carry out the operation."

General Marcks turned sharply to face the young colonel. "I think, that if communications are lost with the Bolo we will halt the operation until we regain contact."

Colonel Rheinhardt drew breath to protest, thought better of it, and nodded his agreement. "As you order, sir."

General Marcks rose, extending his hand to the colonel. "Good luck."

"Thank you, sir." Rheinhardt clicked his heels together again, turned smartly and left the room.

"Gentlemen," General Marcks said to the remaining officers, "I shall now inform the Astral. If you will excuse me."

Quirthian computational strand completed. Quirthian computational strand programmed. Data acquisition. Satellite network programmed to examine sky coordinates right ascension 5 hours 22 minutes, declination 28 north. Program engaged. Data acquired. Data a.n.a.lysis complete. Enemy identified.

"Monsieur, the network!" an excited technician shouted at Monchant, the center's manager.

"What? What's happening?" General Lambert demanded as panic rippled through the computer center. He had been cat-napping in one of the unoccupied cots but at the shout had sat bolt upright. He glanced at his watch--it had been a little over two hours since the technician's first jubilant report.

Monchant turned back from the chaos long enough to say, "The Bolo has acquired Quirthian capabilities--I don't know how--it has taken control of the s.p.a.ce satellites and is directing them--where, Jacques?"

The technician in question handed him a quick printout. The manager's brows furrowed as he scanned the printout in growing confusion.

"Well, where are our satellites being aimed?" Lambert demanded, fearful that the Bolo might have discovered some previously undisclosed offensive capabilities in the satellites.

"The Bolo has pointed the satellites to deep s.p.a.ce," the manager answered.

A slow smile spread across Lambert's face. "Mad! It is mad! You've done it! You've destroyed it!"

"Bolo, have you received the battle plans?" Colonel Rheinhardt asked as he approached the large war machine. The ma.s.sive doors to the aerostat hangar stood open to the cold twilight air.

"The plans have been received," the Bolo replied after a moment.

"And you understand your orders?"

"Yes, I am to destroy the enemy forces in the most optimal manner," the Bolo responded.

"Do you still require me to accompany you?"

"Yes, human supervision is required for the operations planned." This answer was accompanied by a metal-rending groan which set the security troops running towards the machine, weapons drawn. At the top of the Bolo a light appeared as a circular hatch, protected by five hundred millimeters of reactive armor, opened up to the outside world. "I have opened the observation compartment. I am purging the inert storage gas." Some moments later, the Bolo added, "Purging complete. You can climb aboard now. The rungs are on my port side."

"Very well." Rheinhardt circled to the port side, found the old rusty metal rungs and climbed them nimbly. He paused at the top to peer into the illuminated compartment. "It appears quite small."

"I believe that most occupants found it quite acceptable for the duration of any combat mission," the Bolo answered.

Rheinhardt pursed his lips. "Very well, who am I to argue with my distant ancestors?"

"You are Colonel Karl Rheinhardt of the Bayerische KriegsArmee," the Bolo replied.

Colonel Rheinhardt politely ignored this outburst of literal interpretation on the part of the Bolo, intent on descending into the compartment below him.

He wormed into the seat and noted with satisfaction that the cushion was still firm after three centuries of disuse. The compartment smelled of steel, dust, and, very faintly, of battles fought long ago.

"Please adjust the restraining straps and headrest," the Bolo said.

Colonel Rheinhardt eyed the five-point restraints dubiously but squirmed into them without complaint, realizing the sort of beating he could take when the Bolo entered combat. "Is this safe?"

"No commanders have reported problems with the system previously," the Bolo responded. "My sensors indicate that your left shoulder strap is not optimally tightened."

Rheinhardt raised a brow in surprise and pulled on the indicated strap dubiously. His expression changed as the strap tightened noticeably.

"Permission to activate the environmental protection system," the Bolo requested.

Rheinhardt hesitated a bare moment. "Permission granted."

Immediately he felt a push as the headrest moved against him. In front of him, cushioned bolsters moved in tight around his midriff and a support pressed on his shoulders, tightening and loosening as the ancient sensors adjusted for proper restraint. Something obscured his vision from above and he looked up just in time to see a Combat Vehicular Communications helmet descend upon him, covering his vision. He grunted in surprise.

"Combat visuals on-line," the Bolo informed him. The darkness of the CVC helmet was replaced by four screens of display data. Directly in front he saw a combat display, above which was a weapons status screen. Off to the left and right were two other displays just on the edge of his vision.

Rheinhardt felt a microphone delicately touch his lips and retract. "Bolo, do you hear me?"

"Das Afrika Korps receiving command communication loud and clear."

"Very well, you may start the operation."

"Closing supervision compartment hatch," the Bolo replied. The sound of the groaning metal as the thick hatch drew itself back into place sounded ominous to Rheinhardt's ears. A different groaning, more of a whining, overlay the final sounds of the hatch's locking mechanism which Rheinhardt identified as ancient armored tracks moving. "Ten percent forward speed engaged."

"How do I use your hull speaker?"

"Hull speaker connected," the Bolo replied as if obeying an order. "Speak normally."

"Thank you," Rheinhardt said to the Bolo. With a change of tone, he ordered, "Open the hangar doors."

"The hangar doors have been opened, proceeding on course," the Bolo reported. "Increasing speed."

Rheinhardt lurched in his seat as the Bolo sprang forward. "Give me an external view, please."

"External view on forward screen," the Bolo replied.

Rheinhardt gasped in surprise as a mottled landscape flashed into view in front of him. "Is this normal?"

There was a silence before the Bolo answered. "Apparently my normal vision monitors are nonfunctional. Would you accept infrared, ultraviolet or simulated normal light visuals?"

"The simulation, please." Rheinhardt's mottled view cleared, showing him the edge of the military compound. Startled guards stood out in the light, eyes wide but weapons ready as the Bolo bore down upon them.

"Slow down, please. Can you get me a communications link with the post commandant?"

"Affirmative."

"General Wiesen, speaking; who is this?"

"General, Colonel Rheinhardt. You were supposed to have the gate opened for the Bolo."

"It is open," Wiesen replied, somewhat annoyed.

"We are just in front of it and your guards are standing at port arms in front of the Bolo," Rheinhardt replied. "I admire their courage even while I question their intelligence."

"I'll sort it out immediately."

"Thank you, General." Shortly the guards moved aside and opened the gates. The Bolo moved through without any additional orders.

"One question, Colonel-" General Wiesen's voice was lost in a rush of static.

"Communications signal lost, shall I reconnect?" the Bolo asked.

"No," Rheinhardt replied, "that won't be necessary. Wiesen's a nosy old busybody. Just continue with the operation and inform me if we get any contact from the General Staff." A flashing red light in the left display distracted Rheinhardt.