Chapter 13
Behind Hans the sunless, predawn, sky flickered as if lit by a thousand strobe lights; the entire artillery—over three thousand guns—of Army Group Reserve, sending their gifts to the Posleen dug in well south of the city.
Size of their artillary batteries.
Schultz, not needed at his gunner's station for the nonce, helped bring round the morning's repast, a couple of hard-boiled eggs, some long-shelf-life milk—"nuclear milk," the men called it—a roll and some sort of unmentionable meat, a grayish, greasy, half-inch-thick slab of embalmed beef. Brasche, concentrating on the intelligence updates coming in via radio, absentmindedly took the eggs, roll and meat, but pointedly refused the milk. Schultz could not blame him; the price of extending the shelf life was milk that tasted of old gym socks. Nutritious it may have been. Good, it was not.
Nice to see that the Germans were smart enough to stockpile their food supplies instead of hoping to rely on their farms which are extremely succetible to bombardment. Unlike the US which just seems to hope the Posleen are too stupid to hit the Great Plains.
The most valuable recon assets in the Germans' hands were artillery-fired television cameras encased in time-fused shells that gave anywhere from a few to fifteen minutes of visual insight before falling too low to do any good. These were rare items, however. Like the precious neutron bombs, there had not been time to build many of them. They were also used, generally speaking, in conjunction with the artillery-fired neutron bombs, the cameras spotting useful targets and the atomic weapons then "servicing" those targets.
And he did pay attention to continuity! Dammit it Kratman, why do you have to be batshit insane politically? It would have been a great if you had for "any resource" had the European European Union employing a large number of Arabs fleeing from the Middle East. It would be great if he actually showed he wasn't a psychotic far right winger. But that would require him being a good writer...
The problem was, though—as Hans knew, that the enemy had had a chance to spread out and dig in. There were few concentrations, few that the cameras had found anyway, that justified the use of the deadly little enhanced radiation packages. Moreover, one of the genuinely effective defenses against the brief burst of high-intensity neutrons the bombs emitted upon detonation was simple earth; and the Posleen had dug in deep in the few days granted them.
The Posleen use fortifications.
Under the lash of the guns, terrified Posleen, normals and God Kings both, huddled and trembled. Never in all their previous history had the People experienced anything against which they were so completely helpless as they were against this threshkreen "artillery."
God, I hope the Galactics are the first species the Posleen ran into. Otherwise that is pathetic.
God, this is worse than Kursk, Hans thought as he watched on the main screen as infantry and tanks, locked in a close-quarters death struggle with the alien enemy, rolled back the shoulders of the eleven narrow lanes the artillery had torn in the Posleen line. For the Germans, this was a combined arms fight with a literal vengeance. Their lighter panzers, Leopard IIA7's, blasted apart bunkers, lent their machine guns to the fray, and ran over individual aliens to squeeze out their lives like overripe grapes. In close support, carrying the detailed fight to the foe, the German infantry, heedless of loss, cut, slashed, blasted and burnt their way through the trenches. Meanwhile, the artillery concentrated on sealing the areas of penetration off and pureeing any large groups of the enemy that attempted to mass for a counterattack.
But the affair was hardly a massacre. Stunned, demoralized and weakened though they were, the Posleen still fought back with more ferocity than any human enemy, even the mindlessly brave Russians, would have shown after the pummeling they had received.
Sending in infantry seems like an incredibly bad idea. Or any men in a frontal assult. I'm surprised this doesn't get them all killed.
The God King knew the drill. All Posleen Kessentai knew the drill for taking over abandoned property without incurring edas, the often crushing debt that was the common lot of all but the most senior and richest of the People.
"I am Oolt'ondai Chaleeniskeeren, son of Ni'imiturna, of the line of Faltrinskera, of the clan Turnisteran. Is there anyone aboard?"
"My internal sensors show no life aboard this vessel, Chaleeniskeeren of the Turnisteran. I am called 'Feast-deliverer.'"
"What is your radiation count, Feast-deliverer?" he asked.
"In the range of certain death in less than one twenty-fifth of this planet's revolution about its axis," the ship answered.
"I claim this ship for myself and my clan, in the name of the Net and of the Knowers; in the name of the People, and of survival."
"This is the way of the Path," the ship answered, as it lowered the ramp.
...
Standing in the command position, Chaleeniskeeren heard the ship intone, "Oolt'ondai Chaleeniskeeren, son of Ni'imiturna, of the line of Faltrinskera, of the clan Turnisteran, I recognize you under the Law of the Net, and the Ways of the Path and of the Knowers, as rightful lord of this vessel. What is your command?"
"Lift off," answered the new commander, unsteadily. Already the edges of his vision were darkening. "Lift off and head generally for the human forces. Control to me."
The Posleen have decent AI technology used in their warships.
"I know, lord," said Ro'moloristen. "I know. But I have been thinking . . ."
"A dangerous pastime."
"Yes, lord, I know that, too. Nonetheless I have been thinking. We . . . the People as a whole . . . make war as we hunt. These threshkreen do not. Or, at least, they do not do so as we do. They have what they call 'Principles of War.' The lists of these principles vary among them but I have discovered twelve that seem to cover everything."
"Twelve?"
"Yes, Lord: they are Mass, Objective, Security, Surprise, Maneuver, Offensive, Unity of Command, Simplicity, Economy of Force, Attrition, Annihilation and Shape. Using these principles I have determined upon a plan that may grant us the victory. Instead of attacking all along the front, we will concentrate our efforts towards the sector nearest to the bridge held by the host of Arlingas. We have no clue how even to use any of the thresh artillery we have captured, let alone build or resupply our own. But we do have ships. From space we will pound—"
The Posleen aren't idiots. Of course, the fact they can't understand how to use artillary goes against them, but they do understand that if they don't destory humanity, it will destroy them. Why they do not adapt to counter it...
Chapter 14
Not that he was useless, far from it. Unlike Indowy machines this one had awesome defects to it; awesome at least for one born into a civilization where perfection was the minimum standard for tools and machines. The little bat-faced sentient spent full and busy days helping to fix one crisis fault after another. He had a genuine knack for it, even with, to him, alien machinery.
The Galactics are like the Imperium (40K or Foundation) in their tech.
We go back to Hans remembering how his wife died of cancer before he decided to go back to Germany. He feels guilty because:
"The last group were the worst and I was in that group. We were the ones who knew, knew that it was wrong, evil, and even knowing this, turned our faces from it, instead of fighting it; turned our faces and ran.
She was soon close enough to hear the captain's words. "We need more men," he said, as loudly as able. "Division Charlemagne started this fight with over twenty-eight thousand men before we covered your retreat. One in twenty combat soldiers crossed to safety. We are the last French formation in this war and, if we are to have any bargaining power with the Boche, we must grow again." The captain then said something too softly to be heard, but Isabelle thought she could make out the words on his lips, "We need to grow again if any of our people are to deserve to live."
An adolescent voice rang out from just behind her, and Isabelle cringed. "How old must a man be to volunteer?" asked her son, Thomas, in a clear, ringing voice.
"Fifteen," answered Hennessey, perhaps slightly less wearily than he had spoken before.
They are running out of warm bodies for the ranks.
They had all been overjoyed except for Krueger, the unrepentant Nazi, that is. He made a polite showing of face, but retired immediately to his driving station, thinking all the while dark thoughts about pseudo-Nazis and Jew lovers.
Kruegar- choatic evil punching bag.
But the precious time gained by alien ignorance had been put to good use. Other liquids besides water could choke off oxygen from alien lungs.
Borominskar's olfactory organs barely sensed the new smell over the river's, thresh-made, pollution. In a few minutes, though, as the flowing waters spread some new fluid out across the stream's surface, the odor became too strong to ignore. The artificial intelligence on the oolt'ondai's tenar beeped once, twice, then issued a warning.
"That fluid is highly volatile, highly flammable, Kessentai. I believe it to be a trick of the threshkreen."
They have really God and portable AIs.
The God Kings' tenar fluttered above the conflagration, seemingly helpless to stop or end the suffering of their "wives" and children below.
God-King mate with the normals
In time, shots rang down too, as Kessentai did what they could to end the agony of their roasting and suffocating people.
So you are capable of pity, too, are you? How very interesting
The Posleen show pity.
Chapter 15
Soon enough, the Posleen harvesting machine would erase even those.
They DO have machines! Hah!
Though the night was cold, Borominskar, standing by and facing a fire, and with a patchwork blanket made of carefully chewed and sewn thresh-pelt, was warm enough. A cosslain had summoned forth the needed skills to make the blanket from his internal store. Going from feed lot to feed lot he had selected the best of the thresh, those with the longest, finest, brightest hair to make this offering to his God. Carefully trimming and cleaning the freshly gathered pelts, the cosslain had chewed them gently for days to make them change from putrescible flesh to soft, long haired, impervious suede.
Posleen arts and crafts. If you view your enemy as prey, making clothing from their skin makes sense. I wonder if they try to use every part.
He had managed to cobble together a food synthesizer in an unused space between Brünnhilde's fighting compartment and the exterior hull.
The Indowy can build food machines.
Chapter 16
Rinteel took a sip of intoxicant from a metal, army-issue cup, before answering. Thus fortified, he continued, "Your programming does not allow you to fight on your own, is that correct?"
"It is correct, Indowy Rinteel."
"It does allow you to use your own abilities to escape, however, does it not?"
"If my entire crew is dead or unconscious, I am required to bring them and myself to safety, yes. But I am still not allowed to fight the main gun without a colloidal sentience to order me to. I can use the close-defense weapons on my own, however, at targets within their range; that is within my self-defense programming. And I may not retreat while I carry more than two rounds of ammunition for the main gun."
"Can't you direct your main gun without human interface?"
"I have that technical ability, Indowy Rinteel, but may still not fire it without a colloidal sentience to order me to."
"How very strange," the Indowy commented, sotto voce.
"I am not programmed to comment upon the vagaries of my creators, Indowy Rinteel."
You could have built bolos! Why didn't you? Why?
"The philosopher Meeringon is asking you in the name of the Path and the Way to end his suffering."
"Philosopher?" Benjamin queried. "Ah, never mind." He thought for a minute or two before continuing, "Tell this one we will grant his request . . . for a price."
The Israeli waited while the machine translated. "'The demand of price for boon is within the Way,' Meeringon says."
"Good. Ask Meeringon, 'Why?'"
The commader sends out patrols, along with other leaders in his sector to find out what the Posleen are up to. The Jewish commandos are the only successful group and discover that the leader is stockpiling captive civilians for human shielding.
Only three bridges remained undestroyed over the great river. To the north stood one, guarded by the fortress Ro'moloristen called, after the human practice, "Eben Emael." To the south, at the newly German again city of Strasburg, old fortresses held the People at bay. In the center, at Mainz where human and Posleen remained locked in a death grip, the bridges also stood.
Blow them up!
Chapter 17 next.
Anyone know what she is talking about?
