Peace World (4 page)

Oiloo decided he would have to take matters into his own hands.  Although he could not support the Minith directly with battle cruisers or legions of soldiers, he could aid them in other ways.  In fact, he had already begun doing so. 

The Minith General and four of their motherships were already headed to Earth at Oiloo's urging. 

*     *     *

General Soo commanded his mothership with an iron fist.  He intended to command the other three motherships, which were also en route to Earth, in the same fashion.  With luck, those craft would join him at the edge of the planet's solar system within days of his own arrival.

His orders had been issued by his brother's mate, Rala, prior to leaving his position outside the Telgoran atmosphere.  As directives went, they were remarkably clear.

"Grab Earth by the throat and choke the life from it."

Those were words that any Minith commander could appreciate.  They were especially comforting after having to watch the humans defeat his soldiers on Telgora.  His inability to help his forces defend their positions, and the clear view he had of their ultimate elimination, fueled his anger and his desire to grind the humans under his heel.  Striking Earth while their army was fiddling about on Telgora would be extremely gratifying.

CHAPTER 3

"Overriding the system was simple.  The real problem is deciding how close to Waa we want to be when we drop out of interstellar speed."

"As close as possible, Gee.  I want to be right on their doorstep."  The engineer stared at Grant with a blank expression.  Grant sighed.  Apparently that idiom was no longer in use in the twenty-seventh century.  "Just get us as close as you can."

"Grant, the failsafe the Waa put in place is there for a reason.  I can plot a course that
should
deliver us to the planet, but there are no guarantees.  We're talking about decelerating from much faster than light speed to an interplanetary speed of only twelve million kilometers per hour."

"
Only
twelve million?" 

"Relative to the interstellar speed we are traveling
now
, that's like standing still.  But it's much too fast to be traveling with a planet nearby.  The closer we try to get to the planet before decelerating, the higher our risk of… um… impact.  Plus, we need time to decelerate from
that
speed before entering the planet's atmosphere."

Grant was getting a headache trying to keep all the numbers and possibilities in his head.  He had never been great at math.

"So, how long will
that
take?"

"Typically, the process of slowing the mothership from interplanetary speed to a speed that will allow a controlled descent to the planet's surface begins a day or more out."

"We can't give the Minith a day's notice, Gee."  Grant paused to consider the timing.  He did not know how prepared the aliens would be to defend against an unexpected mothership that suddenly appeared in the sky and then attempted a surprise landing outside a major city.  The fact that the city also happened to be the one where their leader resided would expedite their response.  He just didn't know enough about their capabilities.

In his time, he could land a large force outside of just about any city in America and have at least a half a day to operate before military units could be assembled in any significant numbers.  Local law enforcement would respond immediately, and, depending on the urgency, nearby fighter aircraft could be brought to bear.  But as for ground troops?  It would take at least half a day—and more likely, two to three days—to put them in play.

"Can you slow the ship and land within an hour of dropping out of interstellar speed?"

Gee's mouth dropped.  Grant knew the engineer thought he was nuts.  To Gee's credit, though, he merely turned to his control panel. 

"The scenario gives us a ten-percent chance of hitting the planet and a fifty-percent chance of breaking apart when we decelerate.  The repairs the Telgorans made to the hull are the problem.  They do good work, but I don't how they will hold up under the added stress," Gee offered after running the numbers.  He gnawed on a thumbnail while Grant mulled over the response.

It only took a few seconds.  Grant could not live with those odds.

"How about two hours, Gee?  Can we do it in two?"

Gee went back to the computer. 

"Three-percent chance of impact with Waa.  Twenty-percent chance that we destroy the ship in the process."

Grant could live with the three percent, but the twenty-percent chance of killing them all was still too high.  

He weighed the need for surprise against the chance that they would destroy the ship—and themselves—before ever reaching Waa.  They were a small force of a thousand fighters.  According to the ship's data systems, the Minith population on Waa numbered close to one million.  Almost a hundred thousand of those were trained soldiers.  While only a portion of those soldiers were stationed near the capital city, it was more than enough to wipe out the human attackers.

Regardless of how Grant played it out, their plan to go after the head of the Minith race was likely a suicide mission.  But without the element of surprise, death was a certainty.   If they were to have any chance of success against the enemy, they had to catch them off guard.  Grant thought back to the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.  Although that happened a hundred years before he was a soldier, it was the classic example of how to strike a foe unexpectedly.  He and his forces would need to be just as successful as the Japanese had been on that December morning. 

"How much time will it take if we reduce the twenty percent to ten?"

Gee made some revisions to his calculations.

"Two hours and thirteen minutes."

"Do it."

*     *     *

Grant entered the mess hall and strode to the middle of the room.

"Okay, listen up."

The twenty-two leaders of Grant's forces were scattered around the largest room in the mothership.  As usual, they were on time for the daily briefing, and all of them gave Grant their attention.  Titan and Patahbay stood along a side wall.  Both were new additions to the routine, agreeing to join the briefing at Grant's request.

"In two days, we are going to be landing on the planet Waa," he started.  Most of them already knew the basics of the plan, but he covered them anyway.  "As you know, the planet is home to the largest remaining population of Minith.  According to the ship's records, nearly a million of the aliens live there.  A tenth of them—about a hundred thousand—are soldiers.  For those of you who may not be so great at math, that means we are outnumbered a hundred to one."

Grant waited for the statement to register with the team leaders before continuing.

"The good news is that we probably won't have to face all those soldiers when we land.  As we've discussed before, Waa is made up of four separate land masses—large islands.  Each island is separated from the others by thousands of kilometers.  The Minith are spread out among the islands, which is good for us.  Only a fourth of their fighters are stationed on the land mass where we will be landing.  Of
those
forces, only twenty percent are staged in or near the city where we will be.  So, we are looking at five-to-one odds at the initial point of contact."

The faces staring back appeared grim.  Some showed worry; others showed fear.  Now was not the time to pull punches or provide his leaders with anything less than the full truth of their circumstances.

"Any questions?"   

A hand shot up from the back. 

"Captain Meeker?"  Meeker was a fighter pilot and the leader of Flight Bravo.

"General, do we know what type of forces we'll be facing when we land?" 

"Good question.  I wish I had a good answer," Grant said.  "The reality is that we don't know much about the Minith forces on Waa other than their numbers and locations.  What we've seen till now—both on Earth and on Telgora—might not tell the whole story.  For example, we know the Minith have trained foot soldiers, and that they use vehicles similar to common carriers to deliver their troops to the battlefield.  We also know from Titan and Gee's experiences six year ago that they have space-born fighters capable of damaging a mothership.  We've never seen any evidence that they possess tanks, artillery, or planet-based fighters."

"They don't have fighter carriers on the ground?"

"I didn't say that, Captain," Grant explained.  He did not want to give his forces false hope or false information.  The reality was that he did not know what type of vehicles, weapons, or other fighting capabilities they could expect once they hit the ground.   "I said we don't have
evidence
that they possess that capability.  We've never seen them, and the ship's databanks don't describe any of those resources, but that does
not
mean they don't have them, or their equivalents.  For all we know, they have everything we have and a whole lot more."

"Grant?"

"Yes, Titan?" As a civilian, Titan was not required to use Grant's title.  Grant did not mind, but some of the team leaders in the room shook their heads at the unintended slight.

"Those aren't good odds, even if the enemy doesn't have our weapons capabilities.  Do we even stand a chance?"

There it is
, Grant thought.

Titan asked the million-dollar question—the one that everyone in the room had to be thinking about—and Grant was grateful.  Although he would have eventually broached the subject if needed, receiving a direct query from a respected fighter like Titan was best for morale.  It did not change the reality of their circumstances, but allowed him to respond naturally, without appearing to be overly worried. 

"Of course we have a chance."  Grant offered a thin smile with the statement, and nodded for effect.  He wanted to convey as much optimism as he could without pulling punches, and carefully considered his next words. 

He had never considered himself much of a motivational speaker—had never had to be.  His reliance on superior training and the personal motivations of those under his command had always seemed sufficient.  A high degree of self-motivation was one of the traits he required of the members of Hell's Warriors.  He did not have those luxuries now.  Although these fighters were motivated, trained, and veterans of the battles on Telgora, they would have been considered newbs by most twenty-first-century standards. 

So, he did what any twenty-first-century warrior would do when facing a team of twenty-seventh-century soldiers.  He dipped into his playbook of worn coaching clichés and tired, movie-based motivational speeches for inspiration.

"It's not going to be easy.  In fact, it's going to be damn-near impossible.  But if we fight hard and luck is on our side, we can win this fight," Grant began.  He delivered his message from the core of his being and, over the next several minutes, he offered his best impression of the half-time speech of a coach trying to rally his team to overcome a huge deficit in their title game. 

His sprinkled references to "those we are fighting for on Earth" and "our duty and responsibility" and "our chance to free humanity" might have been viewed as cheesy or hollow to the cynical minds of his own time.  But his lines were delivered with heartfelt sincerity and a passion that was genuine.  "None of us wanted this fight.  All we wanted was Peace—and the right to live our lives free from slavery and injustice.  But we will do what we have to do." Grant struggled to rein in his emotions as he concluded his speech.  "Regardless of what happens on Waa, I am proud to be a part of this army.  I am proud of each and every one of you."

The fighters assembled before him stood taller.  Several nodded.  The fear and worry that had been so plain in their faces was replaced by stony glares of resolution and determination.

Titan broke the short silence that followed.

"Where do you want to use us?"  The resolution and commitment were palpable in his tone.  It was clear that the former violent was ready to fight
now
.

At Grant's insistence, Titan had attached himself to the group of fifty
dindin
warriors from Telgora.  Even though he could not share in their mass mind, the ex-prisoner seemed to fit in with the group of gray-fleshed Telgorans better than with the soldiers and pilots on the ship. 

"I'm just getting to that," Grant answered.  "I want everyone to listen up closely.  You will need to brief your teams on what to expect when we land and what each of their roles will be.  If anyone has any questions as I go through this,
now
is the time to ask.  Anyone have any more questions before we start?"

No one did.

"It should be no surprise to any of you that we're hoping to catch the Minith with their pants down," he said. 

His announcement was met with blank stares, and it took him a moment to realize his error. 

"Let me explain what that means." He sighed.

CHAPTER 4

Rala marched quickly up the steps and into the corridor that led to Governor Truk's offices.  Outwardly, she presented the calm, aloof manner that most Minith had come to equate with her appearance.  As the minister for trade, she was a powerful player among the higher echelons of Minith society and commerce.  In addition to the power she wielded, Rala was a highly attractive, widowed female
.
  These dual elements of power and beauty contributed to make her increasingly popular among her race. 

But her outward calm was overshadowed by inner turmoil. 

Rala clawed the tiny device hidden within the secret pocket she had sewn into the hem of her blouse.  Reassured that it was still there, she entered the governor's outer office and presented herself to Ghin.

"Hello, Ghin."

"Ah, Trade Minister Rala," the governor's aide responded.  His slick, overly formal tone grated on Rala, as it always did.  The male was interested in her, but was intelligent enough to know he did not have a chance.  As a result, he acted as if she was beneath his consideration.  Although it caused their limited interactions to be uncomfortably stiff, it also served to make them mercifully short.  Rala considered it a satisfactory trade-off.