Chapter 15
T.O.C, White Sands R&D Center, New Texas
Carol Davenport was beyond pissed off. If there was an emotion for anger that passed blood letting carnage she was there. Fourteen heavy bombers and eight super heavy bombers had come within five miles of attacking HER base. The problem Carol had was how did those bombers get to New Texas and how did the Amazons get their hands on them. As she looked around at her Command Staff she could tell that they were just as confused as she was over this development. The only one who had the background to answer her questions was Colonel McManus.

“Talk to me here Mac. How in the Hell could those monsters even be here on New Texas? What would it take to get them here?”

McManus sighed. “The same way WE would have brought them ma’am. Factory class dropships.” Holding up his hand to stop her next question he went on to explain. “A Factory class dropship is a specially designed dropship, General. What happens is a heavy or super heavy bomber is first built at the factory. Then flown to the nearest spaceport. Once there their wings are removed, and the body is maneuvered into position for the dropship’s cranes to load on board, followed by the wings. After transit to the target planet the process is reversed with the loading cranes providing the needed lift to assemble the bombers.”

“How many bombers can one of these Factory dropships carry Colonel McManus?” Lieutenant Colonel Jacob Moreland demanded.

“Depends on the model, Moreland. For heavy bombers anywhere between eight to ten per dropship. The super heavy bombers, which are our biggest concern, four to six at most. Seeing as how Lieutenant Cole reported shooting down eight Peacemakers that is two full factory ships worth of bombers we don’t have to worry about.” McManus may not like Moreland personally but did respect him as an officer.

“Damn. I was hoping that you would say they could only bring in one of those bombers per ship.” Moreland grumbled.

“Sorry Jacob. I would love to be able to give that kind of good news. The real bitch is we don’t know how many more super heavy and heavy bombers the Amazons have. Before you ask why we don’t have something similar to fight back with don’t. None of the pilots on this base are qualified to fly heavy bombers, let alone super heavy bombers. Before you suggest that I use the crews from the Atlas’s you can throw that stupid idea out the door. It takes years and training to fly bombers that transport, and fighter pilots don’t have. It is just that simple.” McManus felt he needed to drive the point home that he wasn’t going to change his mind on the manufacturing facilities producing bombers instead of fighters.

“Then why is the manufacturing facilities producing one heavy bomber for each fighter and ground attack aircraft?” Asked Moreland. “I know that you order the production of the Strike Eagles due to the problems with the Claymores.”

“What are you talking about Colonel Moreland?” Davenport snapped. “I know those orders went out. I signed them myself.”

“Um… I went down to talk with the facilities manager to see if they could produce three Goliath transporters for the ones that were damaged during the first attack. I saw that one of the production lines was building some rather large aircraft. So I asked the man what those were. He told me honestly that they were B-32 Dominators. I didn’t think that you countermanded your order ma’am, so I asked who gave the order for those bombers to be built. The plant major just said it came from the Planetary Defense Force Command.” Davenport, McManus, and the other Command Staff just stood there in looking at Moreland like he had just grown a second head. “Did I just say something stupid or do I have something in my teeth?”

“No. You just answered why my people haven’t received their bloody damned fighters, Moreland.” McManus growled out as he turned towards CSM Southerland. “If I was you Sergeant Major Southerland I would start talking. You can start with who gave that order to override our need for fighters.”

Command Sergeant Major Southerland returned the hostile looks he was getting with one of his own. “I don’t know Colonel, but you can be sure that I’LL be getting to the bottom of it. If I had to guess though I would say it was that jackass Planetary Governor of ours. As it is he is the last remaining free member of our PDF Command.”

Davenport turned to McManus and Moreland. “Gentlemen get down to that facility and override those bomber orders. We need those fighters and ground attack craft now.”

“Won’t do any good General. That factory manager is a diehard Texan. You won’t change the production schedule for anyone but the Governor or higher. Not even you. I already tried.” Moreland explained.

“Someone find me the Prince and his lance mates. If that jackass wants a political powerplay let him try taking on the Crown Prince and his band of Outlaws.” The note of finality in Davenport’s voice let those gathered know how she expected the showdown to end. Only Southerland felt differently.

“Ma’am, it won’t matter. Ferguson has one too many of his cronies in place to override his damned orders for those bombers. He believes that his plan is the only way to go. He keeps talking about some dipshit he read about in ancient Earth History that was able to conquer half the European countries in less than three with just his air force and army. Which was smaller than the other nations’ standing militaries. He won’t listen to reason.”

From across the room Sergeant Major Bougus spoke up for the first time since the battle. “The sad part General is most of those cronies are in charge of over half our militia forces. Even if you can get your trainers out to the militia they won’t listen to your teams. They’ll just tell their men to ignore whatever the teams try to teach them. Most of those political cronies have too much money and clout tied up in land to just turn over control to outsiders. Even if those outsiders are trying to save their sorry asses.”

“Damn. Any more good news people?” Davenport snapped snidely.

“Of the eight members of one-twenty-seventh two are dead. We lost all eight Fu-4s. So, unless we can get that factory online building fighters we’re down to just the Strike Eagles and the one Claymore.” McManus told Davenport. Only to have the General sigh and give him a dirty look then wave for the rest of the report. “We are down to just eight Strike Eagles and the Claymore needs major repairs.”

“Lovely, just fracking lovely. Was Lieutenant Cole injured during the battle? How bad was the Claymore damaged?” Davenport asked.

“Lieutenant Cole landed safely ma’am. She is uninjured. Her fighter though is going to need extensive repairs. And about ten days away from her Chief.” McManus chuckled. “From what I heard when I walked the line Chief Warrant Office Daily was extremely pissed with his pilot for and I quote. ‘Bringing his little girl home with a bloody nose, scrapped knees, and a broken leg.’ It seems that the Lieutenant pushed her fighter to its limits and a little beyond taking out those bombers.”

The gathered Colonels just chuckled at McManus’s off colored joke about Terresa Cole and her flying. She was well known for pushing any bird in her care to the limits, often to the point of breaking them. Yet, the White Sands base owed that young brash pilot more than most would ever admit. McManus turned serious as he looked over at Davenport.

“Ma’am as much as I hate to say this we need more pilots like her if we’re going to win. Not just the fighters but actual pilots that have the same physical characteristics as her. Ma’am, in short we need Claymores to fly Claymores.”

Those words must have been magical as they summoned the one person who had that answer. Colonel Andria Cole stepped into the TOC with a grim but determined look on her face. She was not alone. Sylvia Cole, Colonel Marie Kelly, and Colonel Robert Rottweiler were right behind her. As the ranking officer Andria took charge. “General Davenport, we have the answer to AI-burnout and our need to replace our pilots. We cracked the problem ma’am.”

“HOW?!” Davenport demanded in total surprise.

“Not here ma’am, but we can finally produce a Second-Gen Death Dealer that can handle the speeds of an aerospace fighter without the worry of AI-burnout. In truth AI-burnout will now be a thing of the past for all of our military who use the Bio-AIs. As much as I want to take credit for this discovery it all goes to the hard work of Major Sylvia Cole, Colonels Kelly and Rottweiler, and most importantly Lieutenant Terresa Cole herself. If not for her insight into what pilots go through in normal flight operations, not to mention combat, and needs in a Bio-AI we would still be fighting with the problem.” Andria was looking at the two members of the Command Staff that were not Empyreal Military as she explained.

When Carol saw where Andria was looking during her explanation and wanted to kick herself in the ass. Because one way or the other the New Texans would sooner or later get their hands on the tech for making Death Dealer pilots. The reason for this was simple. They needed all human pilots and only the New Texans had them. That didn’t mean Colonel Andria Cole won’t do her damnedest to keep the lid on the tech for as long as possible. AS far as she was concerned the Texans were just as bad as the Amazons. That means their pilots could be facing off against her daughter. They may not be as experienced as Terresa, but enough numbers with overrun even the most hardened and enforced battle position. Andria just wasn’t going to give away her daughter’s one major advantage without holding something back.

“How long will it take to process the new pilots, Colonel Cole?” Davenport asked her. “I believe that we can trust our civilian counterparts.”

“Depends. How many volunteers do we have?” Andria didn’t bother with being polite. She was not about force one man or woman through what will be a very painful process. “You know that by Empyreal law only volunteers can undergo a Second-Gen upgrade General. I’ll not be party to forced conversions, and neither will my staff. I hope we have an understanding?”

“I understand Colonel. Full legal measures will be taken to ensure that no one is taken advantage of. Even if we have to retreat from New Texas and regroup. Then fight to retake the planet I will not break the law.” Davenport knew something was up with Andria Cole but not what. All Davenport knew was that the woman would force her hand on this matter as a Medical Professional. “By the way where is Lieutenant Cole, Colonel Cole? I expected that she would be here already.”

Andria chuckled. “She’s out looking for a bottle of Whiskey to bribe her Ground Crew Chief with. Something about bring her fighter back on a wing and a prayer. To be followed by a good deal of begging for forgiveness.”

Armored Power Suit Hanger
James looked around the hanger bay as the repair gantry lifted the replacement left arm weapons for his White Tiger into position. During the battle James and his lance had overheated their main guns to the point of replacement instead of repair. Then there were the cracked armor plates that would need to be replaced. His lance had claimed five of the seven Vulcan kills that day. The cracked armor came from the concussive force of the one bomb that was released near them. James still couldn’t believe that the Amazons were using Earthquake bombs.

“Hay, Jim!” James turned to his friend Steven and smiled. “Yo boss man, you got an extra cig on you man?”

James padded down the area of his bio-armor covering his chest. “Nope. All out.”

“Damn! That sucks! Now who am I gonna bum off of?” Steven wisecracked.

Heather and Derick Pike laughed at the antics of their lance’s two most eligible bachelors. Joseph Silver Leaf just shook his head at the two men he considered War Brothers. He often told his wife Tina that only a Silvan Elf would be good enough for his two brothers. Tina would just roll her eyes and tell Joseph that no she wasn’t playing match maker for either of the two men.

James just pointed over at Derick. “Go talk to the D man, bro. I know he keeps a pack or two in the cockpit.”

Heather just punched her husband and lance mate in the arm hearing this. “I thought you told me you were quitting?”

Derick shrugged his shoulders. “Hay give me a break here. It’s only been three months honey. Besides I only smoke now when I’m in the cockpit.”

Heather sighed and looked up at James. “Jim is there anything you can do this lug headed husband of mine?”

“Don’t look at me Heather. I told you five years not marry the block head.” The whole lance laughed at James’s joke about their long-time friend. Their laughing was brought to a stop by the appearance of the Claymore pilot. Joseph points over at her as she crossed the bay. James and the others turned and watch as the young woman walked into the maintenance office. “Think I should go save her from Chief Clancy, guys?”

“No James. Just stay here. If she can’t handle that crazy old bat on her own, then what is she going to do when she meets your mothers?” Heather asked truthfully. James turned and gave Heather a sharp almost cross look at hearing this. To which Heather just shrugged her shoulders and smiled. “Oh please, James. We all know how you feel about the little lady. We’ve seen you pinning away over her. Hell, those three jackasses started a pool on when you two first sleep together.”

“Ah my friends.” James sighed and gave the three men of his lance a dirty look. “You know something with friends like you guys, who needs enemies?”

Joseph just chuckled then sang out in a child like voice. “But we love you!”

To which the entire lance broke out laughing once again. Only to be stopped by the scream of rage that came from the maintenance office. “I DON’T CARE WHAT THAT MAN TOLD YOU LIEUTENANT! YOU GO BACK AND TELL DAILY HE CAN KISS MY ASS! I DO NOT OWE THAT FRACKING ASSHAT A BOTTLE OF WHISKEY! NOW GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!”

“Oh shit. She did not go in there looking for the Chief’s whiskey. Is she crazy or what?” Steven asked in shock.

Before anyone could answer his question, there was a second outburst from the office. “LOOK YOU OLD CRONE! I KNOW YOU GOT A FRACKING BOTTLE AROUND HERE SOME DAMNED WHERE! NOW I GOT TWEENTY-IMPIREAL GOLDS! HAND IT THE FRACK OVER BEFORE I GUT YOUR ASS!”

James didn’t waste time explaining he just tore off across the hanger bay towards the office. He knew that voice and the attitude that came with it. Especially when the owner of the voice was angry. The last time he had heard Terresa raise her voice in this manner a bartender ended up in the hospital. “Whoa! There ladies. Please let’s show some decorum here.”

James took a step back from the force of the two glares that were thrown his way by the two women. The thought of ‘Oh shit! I think I just walked into a minefield.’

Chief Clancy was the first to say anything. “Colonel Nakatoma, if you think sending your pet Claymore in here to get my whiskey is going to endear you to me. You can think again Colonel. My hanger, my office, my whiskey. Got it?”

“Damn Chief I didn’t send the Lieutenant in here for your whiskey.” James snapped.

“Wait. You didn’t send her in here. Then who did?” Clancy gave Terresa a short hard glare. “Well Lieutenant. Speak up already.”

“Damn it Chief Clancy I already told you. Chief Daily told me that I could get a bottle of shine off you. I got the twenty Imperial golds damn it.” Terresa was damned near pissed off as she held out the aforementioned gold note. “Now, can I please get that shine?”

Chief Clancy just chuckled and opened her file cabinet. Pulling out two half litter glass bottles holding a clear liquid from the middle draw. She set them on her desk and took the twenty-gold note from Terresa. Then with a smile. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

Terresa just sighed took the two bottles and turned to leave. As she walked passed the lance of APS pilots Terresa was grumbling to herself. “Mean, rotten, stubborn assed, crotchety old lady. No wonder Chief Daily sent me to get his bottle. He did it just to punish me for letting the Witch get hurt. Like I had a choice for taking on a squadron of B-thirty-six Peacemaker super heavy bombers. The damned things are flying battleships for fracks sake.”

James took a few seconds to have Stephen access the specs on the B-36 super heavy bomber. He opened a connection to the others and sent them the specs. Of them all only Heather could put their feelings into words and actions. “Chief Clancy, we’ll take another four bottles of that shine.”

“That’ll be forty-gold credits, ma’am. Not a penny less.” Chief Clancy grinned.

“Can I pay you tomorrow?” Heather asked. “I don’t exactly have my purse with me.”

“Make it fifty and you can run a tab.”

“I’ll cover it, the whiskey Chief, and pay the fifty. Just hand over the bottles.” James said quickly. He just stood there as the Chief Clancy thought about his offer before nodding her head and getting the requested bottles. After passing out the four bottles James turned to the rest of the lance and Terresa. “Come on people. I know a good spot to get our drunk on. One, that ensures we’ll be left alone. Care to join us Lieutenant Cole?”

Terresa looked at the other members of James’s lance. For the first time she realized that if she was going to be with James she needed to get used to Nobility. Taking a deep breath Terresa smiled up at James. “I would be honored sir. Can we drop this one bottle off with my Chief before we go anywhere else?”

The Wild Cards just chuckled. Joseph smiled over at Terresa. “Don’t worry Lieutenant, we all know what it is like to have a maintenance Chief that believes your fighter belongs to them and not you. Why Chief Clancy thinks that our AP Suits are her children. You should be around here after we’ve danced with the enemy and had the paint peeled. You would think we had murdered her first-born child.”

“Go on and get, you rowdy pack of hooligans.” Chief Clancy called out after the six officers as the crossed to the hanger doors. Once they were out of earshot she turned to the crew working on the Prince’s White Tiger. “Morgan, Stone, how much longer on the Tiger?”

“Two to three hours Chief. Sorry but we’re going as fast as we can.” The taller of the two shouted back.

“Let Clark and Lewis finish that up for you. Before you bitch, don’t. Grab your tool boxes and haul your asses over to the flight line. Find Chief Daily and tell him you’re there to give him a hand with that fighter of his.” As the two men finished moving the replacement main gun weapons for the left arm into position and secured their tools Chief Clancy grabbed two more bottles of her family’s moonshine out of her cabinet. Walking back out to the hanger bay she stopped her two mechanics as they climbed into a ground transport. “Boys listen to me closely. That Lieutenant didn’t know how bad the damage was to her fighter.”

“What are you talking about Chief? Every pilot knows just how far they have pushed their craft. It doesn’t matter if it is an APS or aerospace fighter.” Morgan said bluntly.

“Morgan you, dumb ass. Chief Daily wouldn’t have sent her over here just for a bottle or two of shine. That fancy assed fighter took on eight B-thirty-six bombers at altitude. That little lady put her ass on the line big time. He needs all the help he can get to make repairs on her fighter. Do as he tells you, do the first time, and do it right. Understand?” Clancy knew the moment Terresa Cole asked for a bottle of whiskey for Chief Daily that the young Lieutenant’s fighter was in a bad way. Everyone on base had heard about her fight with the bombers. Only the Ground Crews knew just how close her battle had come to ending the young Lieutenant’s life in the skies over White Sands.

The two mechanics just salute their Chief and took off across the base. Clancy returned to her office and called the Chiefs to her office. When they had arrived, Clancy gave it to them straight. “Whoever can spare the personnel needs to send them over to the flight line. We got ourselves a code Whiskey Sara.”

When Clancy used the code phrase among Chief Warrant offices for a truly screwed up situation the others just nodded their heads. Twenty minutes later several medium sized cargo transports raced across the base towards the flight line. In the cargo beds was everything the mechanics and ground crews would need to repair the aerospace fighters that they could lay their hands on.

Bunker 18, inner defense perimeter.
The six young officers had just sat down under camo-netting that hung between the support poles and spreaders when a private first class came running up. “Colonel Nakatoma you’re needed back at the TOC.”

James just sighed and stood up while waving for Terresa to stay where she was. “Stay here, Terresa. I have a feeling this one of those times that I have to put on my stupid fracking crown for some shit stick politician.” With that he turned and waved for the PFC to lead the way. Leaving behind a stunned and bewildered Terresa Cole to the tender mercies of his oldest friends.

Heather was the first to break the ice with the young Lieutenant. “Okay, Lieutenant, rule one in the bunker. There is no rank, Military or otherwise. Rule two, you get caught with two pairs and a good bluff you buy the next round. Rule three, the use of Nobile titles is strictly forbidden. Rule four, what get said here, happens here, stays here. Rule five when in doubt refer to rules one and four. There now that the arbitrary introduction for the rules has been given. What do you want us to call you?”

Terresa just sat there staring at Major Heather Pike in stunned silence for a few seconds before shaking her head. “Um… Sorry about that, ma’am. Um… I guess you can just call me Terresa. If what you just said was true.”

Steven just chuckled. “Oh it’s true Terresa. James was the one to put the rules in place for the Bunker. I swear he hates hearing his titles more than anyone I know of, with the exception of his mothers.”

“You should see the look on your face Terresa.” Derick busted out laughing. A long with the other members of the Wild Cards. “Trust us Terresa, the Empress and the War Princess, absolutely hate hearing all their titles read off at some stupid State function. I think it takes between ten to fifteen minutes for the Herald to get through them all for the both of them.”

“I timed it the last time we got roped into attending a State Dinner as escorts for Jimmy. It took exactly twelve minutes and forty-four seconds. The shortest recorded announcement in the history of the Empire. I think it had something to do with the death glare Empress Maiha was giving the poor bastard.” Chuckled Joseph.

“Nope. It was that losing hand she had just before the diner started, Joe. If I’m not mistaken you had a straight to her three of a kind. How much did you win? A buck-fifty or so?” Derick pointed out with a smile.

The more Terresa heard these four Nobles talk about their ties with the Prince and his mothers the more aghast she became. They were acting like it was nothing for them to be in front of the Empress one minute, and the next sitting down playing poker with her. The three men were laughing while Heather just placed her hand on the unsettled younger woman. When Terresa looked over at her Heather smiled.

“Terresa, trust me on this, don’t let these three yahoos get to you.” At Terresa’s blank look Heather just explained. “Look, we’ve been around James for most of our lives. I know that this is a shock to you but this just us being us. No titles, no rank, just five good friends clowning around having a good time. So just relax and enjoy the hooch. Besides, this is the Chief’s good stuff.”

“You can say that again. I thought I was going to shit a brick when she pulled out the top shelf shine like that. What I want to know is how does the newbie rate the good stuff on the first go around.” Steven asked with a smile.

“All I did was tell Chief Clancy that Chief Daily sent me to get a bottle of shine off her. That was when she just blew her top at me. That is when you guys came in.” Terresa answered with a quirk of her lips.

Steven had placed five glasses on the table and was pouring single shots of whiskey into each one along with fruit juice. “I know it seems like sacrilege but trust us. You don’t want to drink the Chief’s shine straight. The last person to do that ended up seeing pink unicorns and purple leprechauns.”

Terresa took her first drink of the mix and thought the top of her head was going to come off. Coughing to get over the sudden attack on her senses. She whizzed out between breaths. “Damn! That shit has a kick!”

After everyone had taken a few drinks Heather broached the topic that had been on the minds of the Wild Cards. “Say Terresa, can you answer a question for us?”

“I’ll try, Heather. That is all I can promise.”

“Why are aerospace pilots still using the old First-Gen bio-AIs? I mean we all know that the Second-Gens are faster and more powerful.” Heather’s question had caught Terresa off-guard, but she knew that these five people had earned the truth.

“AI-burnout.” That one phrase brought a round of gasps from the APS pilots. To them AI-burnout was a myth. “It all has to do with the speeds at which we fly. You guys got to remember that when we go head-to-head with other fighters we don’t hold back on our speeds. Our fighters can do Mach two or better. At those speeds tracking a target takes more than just a computer, it takes the human element to coordinate the information. It takes more than just an AI that can track a target, it has to regulate the engines, track where threats are in a three-D battlefield, prioritize those threats, and so much more. That is one of the reasons why aerospace pilots are still using the First-Gens. They’re not as susceptible to burnout like the Second-Gens are. Sure the Second-Gens seem like the answer form a ground pounder’s point of view, but how often do your targets move at Mach 1?”

“The only time they do that is when they are flying overhead. Even then if they’re going that fast we normally just leave them alone. The main reason is they’re moving too fast to get hard target locks on us and us on them.” Derick pointed. Only to have Terresa give him a bright smile as he pointed out the one difference between the two vastly deferent pilots. “Ah shit! Now it makes sense. When ever we engage airborne targets, they’re moving sure but not so fast that we can’t track them. You guys have to slow down to engage ground targets, don’t you?”

“Got it in one, Derick. The only exception to that is on a strafing run. If we have a pinpoint target we have to slow down to deliver the ordnance on target correctly. Even then if we’re too fast we over shoot, too slow we fall short. Only air-to-ground missiles insure a better than ninety percent accuracy. Anything else you have one too many variables at play.” Terresa reached into her flight suit’s pants pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. After taken one out she passed the pack over to Steven with a smile. “I overheard you bitching about not having any on you. I know they’re Blacks but they were all I could get my hands on.”

After lighting up and taking a deep drag Terresa handed her lighter over to Steven as he returned her cigarettes. “The real killer for pilots is not other fighters, but what we call the ‘golden bullet’. That’s when we get careless. We let our concentration wander during normal flight operations or get distracted during combat by going for what appears to be a ‘sure kill’. That’s when that one unforeseen element jumps up and bites us in the ass. When human error gets you killed.”

“Damn you got a cold hard point of view there Terresa. Do all pilots think like that?” Steven asked of her before taking a drink.

“Pretty much Steven.” Terresa took a drink and a drag off her cigarette. “There are two rules that all pilots learn on their first day of flight training. The first is takeoffs are optional but landings are mandatory. The second is the five and seven rule. Those are the first five minutes of flight and the last seven minutes of flight. Those are the most dangerous times of any flight. You lose your concentration during those thirteen minutes and you’re dead.”

“Shit! Screw that crap! Give me a good old fashioned head-to-head APS fight.” Derick swallowed hard at hearing these two rules.

“You can say that again, brother. I never knew that being an aerospace pilot could be so damned dangerous.” Joseph like the others took a big drink of his whiskey.

“Say, Terresa, do you happen to know why James got pulled away the way he did? I mean normally the General lets us have a few hours before chewing out his ass for doing something stupid. You know like stepping out onto a battlefield or taking on stupid assed odds. You know, stuff like he did today, that saved a lot of lives.” Heather smirked. It was like an old song for these nobles.

Terresa scratched her head for a minutes then took a deep drag off her cig. “The only thing I can think of would be for his political clout.”

“Okay, what do you know that we don’t Lieutenant?” Derick growled.

“The manufacturing facilities have been listening to the Planetary Governor. Not to the General Staff. I’ve already had more than one run in with the man since this war started trying to get parts for the Witch. Last time I was down there I saw the production line putting out heavy bombers instead of the fighters that were ordered. When I tried to correct the order, the manager told me that he answered to the Planetary Governor and not the military. I think that the situation has finally reached the General and she is pulling out her ace in the hole.” Terresa answered.

“What are you talking Terresa?” Heather wanted to know.

“Shortly after the first attacks, General Davenport order the production of twenty new F-fifteen Strike Eagles, and twelve FB-eleven Claymores. Well, that Governor Ferguson ordered that before any of those fighters get built thirty-two heavy bombers get built and delivered to the New Texans. The problem is nobody knew about that order. So, while we have been waiting for those desperately needed fighters the factory has been building bombers instead.”

“For the love a god! Why the hell would the man do that? Why would he cut our defense down like that?” Joseph want to know.

“Politics, Joe.” All eyes turned towards where James now stood having returned from the TOC. “Ferguson was looking at this war as his way into the Governor’s Office for life. From what CSM Southerland told me. He thinks he is the Military Commander for the New Texans until we can get the real military leaders out of that super max. Which ain’t going to be happening any time soon. Those nuke strikes I told you about. They were in response to the gorilla tactics the locals have been using in the cities. Instead of following the orders Davenport handed out for them to lay low, Ferguson had them stepping up their attacks.”

“Well ain’t that a real kick in the ass.” Derick bitched. “Just fracking normal. Some political hack, more worried about his next campaign run for office, goes and damned near destroys our best chances at winning. All so he can strut around calling himself the Great Savior or some bullshit. Did you at least shoot the shithead?”

“No. And before you go chewing me out we still need the fracker. What I can’t figure out is why are the River Sluts pushing this fight so hard? I mean they could have sat back and let the courts hand them the planet.” James reached over and pored himself a drink then joined the rest at the table. Pointing at the pack of Winchester Blacks. “Can I get one of those?”

Terresa just smiled and waved at the pack. “Be my guest. I think I can give you guys a little perspective on why the River Sluts are pushing so hard.” When all five Nobles were looking at her, Terresa took a deep draw on her cigarette and put it out. “They need the resources of this planet more than their High Council wants to let on. You have to remember that they produce batches of clones in the thousands every month. They have based their whole society on birthing factories. They can populate an entire planet in just ten years.”

“Wait a minute here Terresa. We all know that a person has to be, by law, at least twenty-one to out-migrate to a frontier planet. Sure, the Amazons could produce millions of babies in ten years but none of them will be old enough to migrate.” Heather tried to shutdown where Terresa was going.

“You forget that cloning is LEGAL within the Amazon Collective. They can produce fully grown ADULTS in just twenty-seven months. With a few doctored records they have a full colonization force ready to go. As for why the River Sluts want New Texas in particular that’s easy. This planet was terraformed to be an agricultural planet. In short, a giant food factory. The River Sluts have out stripped their current agricultural planets to feed their populations.” As Terresa laid everything out for the Nobles she could tell that they had never thought about starvation as being the reason behind the war. After all, with the advent of the agricultural planets, the threat of starvation was a thing of myth and legend now.

Terresa could see the thoughts running through the minds of her current companions. “Frontier Planets don’t always have the access to agricultural planet food stuffs on a steady basis. Those of us that grew up on these planets learn to live off the land and do for ourselves. So, the thought of starving is a very real concern to us. Now when you have thousands, no tens of thousands of people starving, you have all the makings for a revolution.” Terresa took out another cigarette and fixed herself a second drink before lighting up.

“Wait, what about all the people that aren’t Amazon? Where do they come in?” James asked. He knew that Terresa had studied the problem far more than he and the others had already. He knew that she was on to something here. She may very well do more than just give the Empire the answer for AI-burnout.

“Simple. Eviction or extinction. The New Texans will either be given the choice of leaving the planet or having their genetic code ‘enrolled’ as part of the Amazon populace. The second one is not done voluntarily.” Terresa blew smoke over the table and took a deep drink from her glass. “If you guys and the General Staff haven’t figured it out yet. This is a war of annihilation. One being waged by the River Sluts. We either get out of the way or kill every last fracking one of them.”

“You have missed something daughter. The Amazons need this planet for more than just its agricultural production ability. How do you think they keep their genepool selection from becoming stagnant?” All six of the young pilots turned to the sound of the voice behind them. There stood Colonel Andria Cole. “Have you forgotten my lessons on cloning and inbreeding?”

At Terresa’s sheepish look Andria sighed. “You have, haven’t you. Very well, pour me a glass of that hooch and pass me one of those Blacks. It’s time for a fast lesson in human history.” Once Andria had the requested cigarette and drink she took a seat on an empty ammo crate that was handy. “Tell me Colonel Nakatoma, what do you know about the early days of space exploration?”

“Not much really ma’am. Just what every child gets taught in primary and secondary school. Sometime around twenty years after the end of the third World War the United Nations started sending out deep space probs. When those probs started to send back reports of earth like planets the race to colonize them was on.” James rattled off what he had been taught in school only to see the face of Colonel Cole turn sower. “I take it that I missed something major there, Colonel Cole?”

“Indeed, you did, Colonel Nakatoma. In truth, most of what you just said was a highly glossed over and cleaned up version of our history.” Taking a deep draw off her cigarette Andria Cole leaned back some. “As we all know the Third World War ended around the end of the twenty-fifth century and the UN did send out those deeps space probes. That is only half the story. The other half is what was done to fill those first colony ships. You have to remember that the human race had not yet discovered Hyper-Fold Space or Subspace depending on who you talk to. The only way to travel between the stars was aboard Ion Drive Starships. Which as we know takes a good deal of time to get up to speed. The first ships that left for the stars were not filled with true volunteers. Not by a long shot. Most of those long-haul ships were filled with criminals.”

At the stunned looks Andria just took another drink of her hooch. “That’s right people. Instead of asking for volunteers, the governments of the world cleaned out their prisons and filled those ships with criminals in hyper-sleep tanks. Most of those ships were never heard from, nor seen again. Only one out of every ten of those Ion Ships ever made it their destination.”

“How barbaric. Was the unrest really that bad following the war, ma’am?” Heather asked.

“Worse than that Major Pike. The problem is no one really knows how bad it was as too many of our records were destroyed during the reconstruction period. It was during this time frame that the first of the Generation Ships were launched. Most of these ships were sponsored by the UN.” Andria took another cigarette and fixed herself a second drink. She really didn’t like to think about this next part in history. As it showed that no matter how hard humanity tries, there will always be a pack of raging phoebes out there somewhere.

“It was decided, by this august body, that the best way to ensure that peace regained was for the more radical factions of humanity to be the first ones to leave earth. They literally forced hundreds of thousands of people on board those ships then launched them. Only half of those ever made their destinations. They started with the religious sects and worked their way down to the militant political radicals.” Only Terresa had ever heard this part of humanities history. For the others, even thought they were Nobles, had never heard of these ships. “It was one of these ships that founded the Amazon home world. You have to understand that the Amazon home world is one of the oldest colonies of old Earth Prime. It was also one of the first worlds to be founded after the discovery of Hyper-Fold Space.”

“Ma’am. Why is it that the Amazons practice cloning?” Joseph asked Andria.

“They lost over sixty percent of their seed population in the first year, Major Silver Leaf. The Amazons, believe it or not, started off as very peaceful people. The problem was, there were too many other factions that felt they were a danger to the morals of society and a bunch of other bullshit. It was these attitudes that pushed for the Amazons to leave Earth Prime. They took some of Earth’s leading scientist with them at the time. It was those scientists that saved their race. That was were the cloning came about. They did it to save their race.” Andria Cole could tell that she had the undivided attention of the younger officers.

“Excuse me, ma’am. Why didn’t they just stop cloning once they reconnected with the rest of humanity? Don’t they need fresh gene stock to keep their race from dying?” Heather really wanted to hear the answer to this.

“They broke the four-generation variance in the second generation of clones. AS for why they didn’t stop clone the answer is simple. At some point the Amazons learned the secrets of genetically programed citizens. Their whole society was based on a Class System, with the High Families or Pure Born at the top. Each Class has their assigned duties. They have whole Blood lines that do nothing but one thing. Let me give you an example. Right now, we face only their Warrior Class, a few of their Educational Class, and a mere handful of their High Class. These are only three of the seven Classes within the Amazon Society. To the Amazons the waste of life is among Classes not designed for a specific purpose is abhorrent. Before you point to the nuclear attacks as a contradiction to this philosophy. You need to remember that the ‘random mixing’ of genes is an even greater sin. For them the way the rest of the Empire reproduces is considered an act against natural selection.” Andria could tell that the younger officers were truly stunned by these revelations.

“Um… mom, how is it that you know so much about the Amazons?” Terresa asked.

“Six years ago, while I was working with the Worlds Health Organization the group I was with responded to a Planetary Health Emergency Signal. It came from Caledon five, an Amazon controlled planet. When we arrived, we were only allowed to treat certain people while whole towns were left to die. I wanted to treat everyone, but the planetary government would only let us treat the ones they decided on. All the while saying that the lower Classes and free born were expendable.” Andria finished off her drink then spit on the ground. “The Empire should be allowed to wipe the Amazon Society from our history, but genocide is against our ethics.”

“And we get to deal with eighteen divisions, four full Naval battle groups, nine aerospace fighter squadrons, and who knows how many bomber squadrons. All filled with genetically programed fanatical soldiers. All of whom would rather die a glorious death than accept surrender. All because surrender means the same thing as dying in battle. Does that about sum things up Colonel?” Derick asked Andria.

“In a nutshell Major, yes.”

-----tbc-----