Bolos: Honor of the Regiment Part 17

Lambert nodded understandingly. "It was a very clever ruse, and it almost worked. Colonel Rheinhardt is a very clever man. I'm sure he would have antic.i.p.ated losing his communications."

"Processor A is now off-line," the Bolo said suddenly over the roar of the continuing bombardments. "I do not need your a.s.sistance, Colonel. You can debark whenever you wish."

Rheinhardt let out a short bark at that. "We're under attack, in case you've forgotten!"

"I am aware of that," the Bolo said. "However, the attack will break up in thirty seconds as the enemy runs out of ammunition-"

"We beat them?" Rheinhardt asked, amazed, nearly hopeful.

"They have suffered some losses from your aircraft but, no, we have not beaten them. They are merely going back for ammunition."

"How about you?"

"The probability that my main gun is operational remains at eighty-two percent, my communications is down to direct satellite links-"

"Why would your satellite links hold up so well?" Rheinhardt wondered.

"I believe it is because I can use the surface of my skin as an effective antenna," the Bolo replied, "it's an old combat trick."

"Even with all the bombardments going on outside?" Rheinhardt asked skeptically. His voice was still squeaky, the Bolo had kept the pressure on to ensure that Rheinhardt could withstand the aliens' extensive bombardment. "Those satellites must be more capable than I'd imagined."

"Another wave is coming in," the Bolo informed him. "The enemy has replenished their a.s.sault craft."

"Follow the same tactics and move 'em close up to the anti-aircraft weapons."

"Jawohl."

Around them a hail of concussions erupted. Rheinhardt could hear a hissing, steaming sound over the ripple of explosions. The air was near scorching, he forced his breath in small gasps, to avoid burning his lungs. The smell of molten metal pervaded the compartment.

"They are using better ordnance," the Bolo commented. "Hull ablative explosives."

"Hull ablative?"

"They're trying to melt my armor away," the Bolo explained. "Twenty percent effective."

Another string of bombs erupted around them, tossing the Bolo up, down, back, forth. It wobbled for a moment on a side, then righted itself and continued forward at a much reduced speed.

"What of our forces, have you opened communications?"

A huge wave of sound exploded over them as a flight of Jyncji a.s.sault craft struck a perfect hit on the exposed Bolo.

"That's it, then," General Marius said bitterly. "They've got the Bolo, the rest is mop up."

The remnants of the Bayerische High Command watched the spectacle wordlessly. As the smoke and dust cleared, the Bolo became apparent again. Pitted, smoking, slagged and glowing with direct hits, it lay on its side. Useless.

"There goes a good man, gentlemen," General Marcks croaked from his stretcher. He had taken shrapnel when their command post had been sh.e.l.led. A medic shushed him but the General persevered. "General Sliecher, take command. If, by some miracle, Colonel Rheinhardt survives, I shall want you to ensure that the Astral knights him. He deserves that promotion, too."

General Marius narrowed his eyes. "You think that Colonel Rheinhardt is responsible for the Bolo's actions?"

"Yes." Marcks replied, wheezing. "Clever man, that Rheinhardt. Always knew it."

Marius shook his head and gestured to the others that the General must be out of his wits.

General Sliecher ignored him. "See General Marcks to safety," he ordered the medic. He bent down next to his general. "I shall not fail you, sir."

Marcks smiled back at him faintly. "Not again, eh?"

"I wasn't wrong the first time, sir. The Noufrench behaved honorably. We were tricked into believing otherwise."

Marcks patted Sliecher's hand. "Not that, old hen. You missed the Bolo's plan. Failed to look beyond the first battlefield to see the second. These enemy, they have been here before, haven't they?"

The medic interposed himself. "Sir, we'd best be moving." Sliecher stood up, away from the stretcher, brows furrowed in thought. Silently he signalled the medic to carry on.

General Marius watched Sliecher attentively. Even so, he was startled when the G-2 slapped his own head in surprise. "Of course! They've been here before!" He turned to the small knot of officers awaiting orders. "Gentlemen, we shall split up! Go guerilla! Our mission is ecological."

"This just in from the Bayerische, sir," a tech handed a brief communique to Lambert. The general read it quickly, squeezed it into a ball and tossed it into a corner where it added to a growing mound of similar discards.

"The Bayerische are splitting up, going guerilla. They advise us to do the same," Lambert told the throng of officers surrounding him. In the intervening hours since he had taken command of the Noufrench forces, their numbers had grown as stragglers had made their way up from the remnants of headquarters. He had put them to work immediately without regard for rank. He had surprised himself some moments ago by counting three generals working for him. "Those of their units still combat effective they are splitting into two sections: one of which they'll attach to us, the other is going to break up into smaller formations and take to the hills."

"Never heard of the krauts doing something like that," a man muttered in the crowd.

"There's some sense in it," Lambert replied. "They expect to divide the enemy's forces and make it more difficult to subdue us. They also theorized that these attackers had been here before."

"When?" A general demanded.

"My guess is just when we first started hostilities with the Bayerische," Lambert said. "It makes sense, both sides accused the other of bacterial warfare . . ."

"Xeno-forming!" someone in the back of the crowd exclaimed. "They tried to xenoform us!"

"General, we've got a visual on the Bolo!" A technician called. "Screen Two."

Lambert turned to survey the screen.

The Bolo lay on its side.

"It looks dead," someone muttered.

Lambert shook his head, "Send a recovery team as soon as possible."

"The enemy is still attacking!" someone protested.

Lambert rounded on the speaker, "That's why we call them combat recovery teams!"

"What's the point?"

"Honor, monsieur," Lambert replied, drawing himself up to his full height. "It is a point of honor."

High in his command ship, Admiral Speare let out a bark of laughter, "Order Barb, launch the bacteriant. Order ground troops to embark. Launch the ground a.s.sault!"

"Yes, milord," Midshipman Scratche replied with alacrity, avoiding the eyes of Captain Pierce.

"I shall be able to report a great victory to the Admiralty, won't I, Captain Pierce?" Speare asked, gleefully.

Pierce allowed himself a nod. "So it would appear milord. My congratulations."

"Hah!" Speare was not taken in. "Orderly, how goes the a.s.sault?"

"Barb is aligned now, milord. It commences its run on the mark!"

- IV-.

I am short a cheekbone and an ear, but am able to whip all h.e.l.l yet.

-General John Murray Corse

Rheinhardt regained consciousness in a sea of red. His display showed red lights everywhere. It flickered once, twice, then went out. A ray of light replaced it.

"G.o.ds, what a mess!" He heard a voice cry out in French.

"h.e.l.lo?" His voice came out a croak. "h.e.l.lo? Is someone there?"

"Did you hear that? It sounded like a voice."

Rheinhardt found the Combat Vehicular Communications helmet with his hands, pulled it away from his eyes. It was cracked down the middle.

A slit of light streamed in from above his head.

He was lying on his side. It hurt. Probably some ribs, Rheinhardt surmised.

"Bolo?" He looked around for any signs of activity from the Bolo. Nothing. "h.e.l.lo?"

"h.e.l.lo, who's there?" A voice called back nervously.

"Colonel Karl Rheinhardt, Bayerische KriegsArmee."

"Colonel? You're alive?"

"So it would appear," Rheinhardt allowed. "How long I continue in this state depends upon you."

"Well, sir, General Lambert, our Operations Officer-"

"I am well aware of General Lambert's standing within your army," Rheinhardt responded. "I take it he asked you to investigate."

"Oui, monsieur. Pour l'honeur."

Honor. Yes, Rheinhardt could see Lambert doing that.

"It would be more practical if you could lever me over to my side," another voice boomed near Rheinhardt's. "The enemy are planning to launch their bacteriant."

"Bolo!" Rheinhardt exclaimed jubilantly. The discarded Combat Helmet glowed red as the readouts came on line again. Rheinhardt reached for it.

Rheinhardt's glad look faded as the Bolo continued, "Das Afrika Korps reports. All power drained, no tractive units functional, hull armor depleted completely over thirty percent of the exterior, power levels at critical. Communications and fire control still functional. Main gun still functional. Processors A, B, C and D have failed."

"I thought you said that you could not work with one processor!"

"This unit determined that it was critical to remain functional and overrode ROM imperatives," the Bolo responded.

"You reprogrammed yourself?" Rheinhardt exclaimed. A smile came to his lips. "Again?"

"It seemed logical."

"But what about voting circuits? Polling? How much power do you have?"

"Two of the comsats are providing me with that function," the Bolo responded. "They are performing exceptionally well." It was a moment before the hulk added, "With no reserves, I have sufficient power for one orbital interception."

"Colonel?" the man called.

"It's all right," Rheinhardt replied. "The Bolo is still functional, somewhat. If you can get it on its side . . ."

"It already is-"

"Enough to clear the main gun," Rheinhardt said. "And hurry, it can still serve us well."

"What's it going to do?"

"Tell General Lambert that it has one clear shot at the aliens' bacterial s.p.a.cecraft. If it can make that shot, the aliens will never be able to destroy us."

"Giscarde, Martin! Get that d.a.m.ned tractor unit over here! And get the others, too! Hook 'em up, we don't have much time!" The officer shouted in a flurry of galvanized action. "You! Call HQ and tell them that the Bolo can take a shot at the enemy!"

"I thought you were gone," Rheinhardt confided softly to the Bolo.

"By all standard operating categories, I am no longer considered combat capable."

"One last shot, eh?" Rheinhardt muttered with a grin.