“Remember, Marshal, we want the commander’s attention to be focused on you for as long as possible. The longer they aren’t looking at radar reports, the longer it’ll be before they realize what they’re in for.” Marshal Kuznetsov’s aide reminded him, handing him the telephone.
“Are you sure they’ll pick up? Beyond that, are you sure they won’t play something through the line that’ll make me pop a blood vessel?” Georgy asked.
“They listen to enemy communiques, sir, even if they disregard them; they won’t discount one from someone so high up. And, of course, you know that we’ve had programs installed in government devices to scrub out psychohazardous transmissions.”
“You know I’m not one to trust tech, Nadia.” Georgy scowled.
“You have the emergency physical disconnect switch on your phone, and I have my own if you start to act strangely, sir. With all due respect, you’ll be fine.” Nadia said matter-of-factly, one eyebrow raised. Georgy had her handpicked after his ascension to the highest office for her tendency to tell things how they were, regardless of who was listening. It was a quality in short supply in Russia nowadays.
Georgy nodded, conceding defeat. “How long until we launch?”
“Ten minutes, sir, give or take a minute or two.”
Georgy jumped in his seat at the thought. “Give or take? We’re dealing with nuclear weapons here; there should be no ‘give or take!’”
Nadia shrugged. “That was what I was told, sir.”
“Go tell the missile men to get their dermo in order. I’ll probably be on the phone when you get back.”
Nadia nodded silently, then spun around and pushed her way out of the Marshal’s office, leaving Georgy alone. He took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts, then began to press the numbers on his landline one by one.
There was no turning back now.
—
With a groan, Wakizashi’s eyes fluttered open and she found herself staring at the ceiling of the Tethylen’s bridge from her position flat on the floor. She took a sharp, pained breath as the master physician dressed her wounds. Slowly, the events of the last few minutes returned to her. The light of the blast had been unbearably painful, and for a decent while, she had been rendered unable to see. However, she was resilient, as any Broodmatron that earned her meat was, and she had quickly recovered, where she found her Captain-General mourning the unfortunate loss of his compatriot in the explosion, the name of whom eluded her at the moment.
What else was she to do but comfort Rapier in his hour of need, and when he was taken with the terrible, infectious folly that seemed to follow after the hick society that called itself mankind, what else was she to do but correct him? Of course, one thing led to another, and she found herself needing to use less civil methods to calm him. The last thing she remembered was the mind-shattering, horrific pain as Rapier’s fingers tore her exoskeleton from her legs, flaying her.
And thus, he would be the first thing she would inquire about. “Rapier,” she said, “what happened to him?”
“Oh, Viceroy,” the executive officer began. Wakizashi didn’t like the way he said it; it was the sort of “oh, Viceroy” that indicated that something bad had happened while she was out. “We tried our best to render justice, ma’am, but his fervor… we couldn’t restrain him. One of our marines tried to hold him in place, but he broke free and lost his balance.”
“And?” Wakizashi asked, the fear rising up inside of her. Something was dreadfully wrong.
“He hit his head, ma’am. With the… traumas that he had already suffered, his body couldn’t withstand the shock. We tried our best to resuscitate him, but he was already gone.” the XO stammered out, trying to hold back his own emotion.
“You killed him!?” Wakizashi shouted, starting upright and yanking her legs out from under the physician. “Ma’am, your exoskeleton mustn’t be moved while it sets!” the doctor cried, one hand outstretched. All this afforded him was Wakizashi’s boot to the face as she struggled to stand, the pain suppressed under a mountain of righteous fury. He fell back with a yelp, clutching his bleeding mandibles.
“It was an accident, ma’am!” the XO replied, standing up from his seat and facing her as she stormed toward him. His face was hardened, but his eyes betrayed the fear he really felt, and Wakizashi had every intention to bring that fear to light. He was so much smaller than her; if she wanted, she could just pick him up and squeeze his chest, listening to him struggle and fail to breathe until life left him. Instead, she just seized him by his coat, lifting him to come face to face with her.
“He was mine, unlerm,” Wakizashi growled, “he just didn’t understand it yet! I would’ve had him for my own, my own, and what do you do!? You throw it all away!”
With that, she slammed the executive officer back against his console hard. All composure left his body as he let out a long, high scream of terror and agony. “And then you acted like he was yours to mourn! He was never yours, never anyone’s but mine!”
To punctuate her sentence, she picked the XO back up, then hit him against the terminal again.
“We would’ve had a life together!”
SLAM!
“He would’ve seeded my children!”
WHAM!
“And you!”
CRASH!
“Had!”
CRACK!
“To break it!”
She dropped him from her grasp. He rolled off of the console, which had been damaged beyond any recognition, and landed on the floor in a sobbing, bleeding heap. “And now you’re crying, like some larva! Shame on your Broodmatron for rearing such a runt.”
She would’ve continued, but was interrupted when the comms officer’s console bleeped thrice, indicating, to her confusion, that an audio message had been received. The Combine’s military only communicated through text dispatches and holographic recordings; had they received a message from another civilization? If the Council of Arbitrators had chosen to intervene in the war, then the Combine was in dire straits indeed. Such interventions were normally only practiced in smaller wars, but generally served to herald that the nations involved had mutually exhausted themselves and were about to be partitioned.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
Thus, it was actually somewhat relieving when instead of a stern representative of the Council, a human with a funny accent was the one on the other end of the line. “Hello, enemy commander; this is Marshal Georgy Kuznetsov, Russian Commission. Care to chat?”
Wakizashi was suddenly too distracted to finish the job with her XO. She was also too distracted to realize that the radar and comms officers had quietly slipped out while she was distracted, and to realize that she had never seen the master of engineers and the provost marshal at all.
—
“Your kind have cost me a lot, softskin.” the Poslushi growled.
“I’m sure that we have, commander, as you have to us. Many have lost friends, family, and children, all in pursuit of this honestly foolish war. You know, we could’ve had peace; maybe we still can.” Georgy said matter-of-factly.
There was a short pause, and then, “The only peace will come when your fleets lie broken and your kin prostrate themselves before us.”
“We’re not prepared to accommodate that, commander, nor do we ever intend to.”
“You should be thanking me,” the Poslushi spat.
“What?” Georgy cocked his head to one side.
“The fact that we’re the first civilization since the Recorder to grace your backwater region is lost on you animals. You’ve forgotten your place.”
This caught Georgy’s attention. “The Recorder?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
The Poslushi scoffed. “Of course, you imbecile! Are you deaf, or are you really stupid enough not to know?”
For a moment, Georgy considered asking, but the Poslushi seemed on edge, to say the least. The last thing he wanted was to have her hang up on him.
“It’s no matter, commander. However, what I’m here to say is that you really should be considering the proposition of the lady from the French. As they say, he who sows the wind shall reap the whirlwind.”
“And what, precisely, is that supposed to mean?” the Poslushi enunciated, her voice a little calmer now.
“What goes around comes around. Don’t bite off more than you can chew. They all say the same thing: don’t get yourself into a situation you aren’t prepared to get out of. Now, you’ve one last chance to back out.” Georgy nodded as he said this. He was lying through his teeth, of course; the Poslushi had already made their beds, and were going to lie in them. It would be foolish to tell the nuclear assets to stand down now, anyway.
“We will have victory, total and sweet, unlerm. Your words will do little to change that.”
Georgy suppressed a chuckle as he answered. “I think they’ll do something, at least.”
—
The USS Thule’s engines hardly made a whisper as it dropped out of warp over Novoarkhangelsk. Far below, the sparse lights of the planet’s settlements glowed faintly in the night, and directly ahead, the red sun was rising in the west, bathing the bridge in a warm glow through the ship’s optical mast. Technically, the Thule was designated as a fast attack cruiser, but not much could be further from the truth. First of all, it was too small. Second of all, it was a dark, sleek, angular nightmare designed with the same philosophy as Earth’s nuclear submarines, emerging from the darkness to deliver an apocalyptic payload, then disappearing before any retaliation could be directed against it. Like the Night Witches of World War II, who glided over the Germans in pitch darkness and only ignited their engines once their bombs were released, you didn’t notice the Thule until you were about to die.
At least, that was the hope.
“USS Verne and Nobel report they’re in position, sir!” the communications officer barked.
Captain Stauber nodded. “Inform them that we’ll be in in a few moments.”
“We’re awaiting presidential confirmation for weapon release, sir.” the weapons officer called.
“It’s coming; don’t worry.” Stauber said quickly. Looking over at the radar officer’s device, he could see on the passive that they were starting to hear pings from just over the horizon ahead, running on Poslushi sensor frequencies. They were in range.
“RCX Nikitovna and USS Bunker Hill report that they and escorts are converging on the Poslushi from opposite poles. Both report ready to fire; HMS Unbroken and USS Montana will be in range in T-minus twenty seconds.” the comms officer said. They weren’t the only assets about, either; Russian launchers all over the surface were turning their missiles skyward, and the French Air Force was sending their interceptors up as high and fast as they could fly, with repurposed anti-satellite missiles strapped underneath their wings. In a few seconds, the Poslushi would be getting a lot more than what they bargained for.
Abruptly, a loud klaxon began blaring as the comms officer’s screen cut to black without warning. Then, line after line of text began printing out on the display.
!!PRIORITY TRANSMISSION, CLASS 1!!
The President of the United States of America has authorized the use of [all weapons of mass destruction] in the following regions: [Polegate Sector and surroundings, any area compromised by Poslush Combine forces]. Proceed according to [Integrated Operations Attack Plan (InOpAP) 009-November-Charlie-Papa]. Attached below is verification and authorization key.
!!END TRANSMISSION!!
“We’ve got codes.” the comms officer said. There was a strange, unnatural grimness in his voice as he relayed them to the weapons officer, who quickly began typing them into his own terminal. A few moments later, a rapid-fire, stuttering clack-clack-clack-clack made its way up and down the halls of the ship.
It was the sound of four dozen authorization locks on four dozen nuclear warheads loaded into one dozen missiles coming undone at once.
“All craft report ready to fire. Ground forces confirm this as well.” the comms officer spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
“The die is cast,” Captain Stauber began, staring off into the void pensively, “open fire.”
—
“You know, if I had the choice, I would consider leaving the masks on your kind. It wouldn’t do much to your minds anyways, and we could use a race of street-sweepers and housemaids.” Wakizashi said.
“And I’d say good luck to you in doing so. As long as I live and this war persists, you shall find no quarter among the people of Russia; we are not unfamiliar with pain, both in receiving and giving it. Even then, I’d bet we’re nicer than AHINT and the Chinese.” Kuznetsov replied with the same swagger as always. Wakizashi had to admit that he was remarkably level-headed.
“Zhongguo folded the moment we laid our forces on Qato. They’ve been on the run ever since.”
“China doesn’t run, commander. It retreats, drowning you in the vastness of its territory and the resistance of its people, as they did with NATO. Then, once you’re tired and weak, they charge back, crushing you under millions of jackboots. Once we break your back, they’ll devour the Combine like wolves.”
“You act as though your victory is assured, unlerm. It’s delusional; no matter what you throw at us, your time for victory has passed. We will break you down, and then we will build you back up again, cleaner, more sophisticated, more civilized. You will serve your betters, and you will thank us for it.”
On the other end of the line, Georgy checked his watch. The first missiles should’ve been en route by now. A few seconds more and they would be making the first impacts. Any craft with longer-range radar systems would be first to go, blinding the whole vanguard, followed by the flagships, whose destruction would bombard their escorts with white-hot ejecta, and finally their supply barges, to limit their capacity to field reinforcements in the future.
“That’s just it, commander. You don’t realize precisely what’s going on, do you? Commander, I bid you adieu; I’m truly flattered that you’ve chosen to spend the last few moments of your life with me.”
Wakizashi’s antennae stood up straight. Something was wrong. “What?”
“I’d say more, but I really need to–”
Light once more. Kuznetsov’s voice was cut short by a hissing burst of static. Wakizashi was facing away from it now, but she didn’t hear anyone else react. She turned around to see, far away, where one of the scout craft once was, a radiant starburst of expanding, shimmering energy, like a miniature nebula. It was beauty and terror in a way that Wakizashi had never before seen. And she knew now that it was no accident.
“Turn us around! Send us into hyperspace! Get us out of here!” she implored to an empty room. Not a soul remained in the bridge with her. Wakizashi couldn’t suppress a laugh after a few moments of utter shock; this was Rapier’s final blow from beyond the grave. His men had trusted him more after all; how dearly, dearly absurd.
A millisecond later, the light consumed her too.
—
As the first video taken from the surface of Novoarkhangelsk circulated around military frequencies all over human space, the reactions, where they existed, were muted. Some, unable to comprehend the sheer scale of the destruction behind the light show in the skies of the Russian outerworld, laughed. A few, less than the joyous, cried, but they knew that they wouldn’t have done it any differently. Most were silent; they didn’t know how to feel. Humanity had halted its own conquest by unleashing the demons of its past, and there was no going back from that. One day, when the children of men were safe to walk the stars, they would throw down their guns and never use them again, but for now, war was what mankind had become.
It was them or us, after all.