The war begins on Jericho, with the humans trying to process it.

Most of the novel so far hasn't focused on combat. As the war begins, though, we see things from the human perspective and it's rather bleak. An old character makes what will be their final appearance, probably, as we see what the war looks like from the other side and the arc of the novel becomes clearer—this is not one where you need to worry about the animals. For once. Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and maps and stuff.

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute--as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

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Crucible, by Rob Baird. Parts 10 & 11.

North of the Kashkin-Jericho border
27.11.2560

“What is that? Another six?"

“I think so."

Colonel Miller took the report from their sensor operator and scrolled up to the start of the log, fingers white with agitation. “That's seventy-nine in the last four hours."

“They must be getting Soviet help." It was the only explanation Calvin Lewis could think of. To the best of anyone's knowledge, the Kashkin's air forces numbered no more than twenty planes, and twenty planes by themselves could not have launched so many sorties. “We should keep an eye on any EM signals… look for any unique signatures."

Miller handed the report back. “Good idea, Cal. Where are they going, sergeant?"

Lewis seemed to recall that Sergeant Agee— Marcia? Marissa?—had once admitted quite explicitly that she'd joined the Home Guard to help finance a college education. The young woman was plainly out of her depth. Harried though she was, she brought up a map, plotting the latest radar contacts on it. “Maybe the depot west of Booker? Or the reserve staging area…"

Over the last four hours, one by one, every depot and communications relay north of the border had gone dark. Miller's battalion stayed in contact with their headquarters through the backup radio link, which was low-bandwidth and less secure; intelligence was slow to come back and inconsistent when it did come.

The last update warned that advance units in the eastern sectors were beginning to take artillery fire. No orders accompanied the report, but Lewis—like, presumably, Miller—could read between the lines. Invasion had shifted from unthinkable to unavoidable.

Where would it begin? Worryingly, Sergeant Major Lewis thought the Kashkin had any number of options. Third Battalion's area was quiet, and not the most ideal route for an offensive… but serviceable enough that 'quiet' was liable to change at a moment's notice.

Or not. Their orders still stood, after all.

Sergeant Agee announced an incoming message for Colonel Miller, who took it without saying anything beyond “yes, ma'am." This he said four times, and then turned off his headset. “Alright. We're counterattacking."

“Who is 'we,' specifically?" Lewis asked.

“First and Third Battalion. We'll take this hill right here, and that'll shut down any highway traffic. Western theater headquarters expects the offensive will buy time for reinforcements to join from the north."

“Reinforcements?"

“Kershaw's First or Second Battalion." General Kershaw's brigade was one of the newest in the Home Guard; she hadn't even received her allotment of Jackals yet. Maybe that's fine, Lewis thought, after further consideration. They don't want her to force a breakthrough, they just want her to be able to hold the opening we create.

But, at the same time, he wasn't even really surprised when he asked 'when' and Colonel Miller pointed to a clock counting down from two hours. Not surprised, perhaps, but definitely unsettled: “Our intelligence on that whole route is at least a day old, sir. We need to scout ahead, if nothing else."

“I asked. No dice. But, honestly, I think they don't want to give away our plans. Nothing happened in the sector since this whole mess kicked off, right?" That marked a dangerous gamble for western theater headquarters, but he had to hope THQ was in possession of a clearer picture.

The order specified that four batteries of rocket artillery had been made available to support their attack. It also hinted that strike aircraft were not available “at the moment," but the situation was evolving and subject to change. There was no change, though: with 30 minutes to go until the attack Lewis wondered if there were no aircraft left.

And if their air force was gone—destroyed or incapable of operations—then… then what did that mean for their reinforcements? THQ-West obviously intended them to act as a sort of sector reserve, because there was none specified in the battle plan and no other defensive lines to speak of.

Colonel Miller listened patiently to Lewis's explanation and agreed to propose holding back one of Third Battalion's companies as a contingency. The reply— undertake all action to ensure success of your mission—was unclear. “In that case, sir…" Lewis prompted.

“What if we leave them behind and they get outpaced? We don't want to figure that out in the heat of battle, right?" That was the point—that was exactly when it needed to be figured out—but they'd run out of time for Lewis to make the argument.

THQ's gamble paid off, anyway. Twenty minutes and three kilometers after the advance started, the tactical scopes stayed quiet and the forest ahead of them stayed calm. He was not willing to let his guard down—yet—but at least their rashness hadn't caused any problems.

Five minutes later, the illusion collapsed at once. “Contact!"

“Where? Who?" Miller demanded of Sergeant Agee, their primary link to the outside world.

“Ah—First Battalion. Reports of two walkers knocked out of commission by guided missiles, but, um… I'm not sure where from. Or what's shooting."

“And us?"

“Nothing, sir."

“Stay alert," the colonel muttered. “Return fire if it looks like—"

She winced, fumbling desperately for her radio's volume control. “Alpha Company is under attack. Direct heavy weapons fire, bearing 2-2-0. One mech down. Two damaged."

“Have them take up defensive positions. Where's Captain Lee? Why isn't he shooting back?"

“They're not in range, sir; I think—"

“Well get him over there!"

Lewis took in the reports impassively as A Company traded ineffective salvos against their unseen enemies. Lee's arrival served to quiet any new incoming fire, but with his mechs also stationary and C Company advancing a gap was beginning to open in the battalion's advance. Lewis cleared his throat to get Miller's attention.

“I see it." Colonel Miller dragged his finger through the map, shaking his head before he sent the order. “We'll have to wait for reinforcements. Walking into a goddamn trap," he added under his breath.

They didn't know that, though. From the walkers' passive surveillance, they might've been facing a dozen tanks—or it might've been a whole division. After a suppressive barrage from their artillery, First Battalion's progress resumed at a glacial pace and Miller decided they could follow suit.

Half an hour later the other battalion halted again, in the face of concerted opposition that cost three more Jackals. Colonel Miller took a private call with their headquarters, and Lewis saw his face clouding over. “No word on any reinforcement."

“We're holding position, then, sir?"

“Have to. Boy, are we not being paid enough for this."

It gave them, at least, the opportunity to reach anyone injured from the downed mechs. Lewis waited for any news, although he was not surprised to learn that there were no wounded. Two Jackals had been lost with all hands; the other crews had been saved by the mechs' protective systems.

The frames could even be salvaged. Not by us, he found himself realizing. Things must be even worse in the east than they're letting on, too. But he couldn't dwell on that. He had a job to do. Not, he thought grimly, because he was being paid for it, but because that job was going to become a matter of life and death.

“Contact. Two aircraft, tracking north." Lewis held his breath, watching the threat-receiver panel. If they fired, he'd hit the shutdown switch and trigger the command vehicle's countermeasures immediately, without being asked, and take the heat for it later…

But they didn't fire. “That's a good sign." Miller seemed taken back by the look the sergeant major gave him. “We're still out of the main area of operations. That's probably why we haven't been reinforced yet, too."

“Just a diversion, you mean?"

“Exactly."

He went on to explain that, as soon as THQ could spare another battalion, he expected the counteroffensive to resume in force. Miller wanted his mech companies ready to provide fire support when the infantry arrived, and to direct them where needed as they crossed the border.

“Like in the drills. No surprises, Mr. Lewis."

In Lewis's time with the battalion, they'd only drilled alongside infantry in a handful of exercises. Forcing himself to consider the practicalities made a good distraction: checking the communications net, and ensuring the local datalink was in good shape from the outset, and keeping the advance measured.

And admitting that, for example, engaging targets of opportunity was liable to be futile. Not in the chaos that still reigned across the front, and not with so little experience in combined arms.

Lewis did what he could to prepare them, anyway. He did not make it far before discovering a worrying omission in the radio network. “Where are Alpha and Delta batteries in the list? Were they retasked?"

He caught Sergeant Agee's startled blink in the reflection of her monitor. “I don't know. There's no update on the mission from THQ, so I don't think so…"

“Nothing in the communication log? What about to the other units?"

Without looking, she raised her hand to the screen, swiping to pull up the full message history on the tactical network. Every page spanned a few minutes of utter chaos, and he understood why Agee had needed to focus only on what directly involved the battalion.

But fire support should've been one of those things. Lewis searched until he found the answer. Both units had been knocked out by counterbarrages, after missions requested by the other battalion; B and C batteries had become extremely selective about what they were willing to fire on.

That message had gone to First Battalion's commander only, though. Miller would've had to wait until he requested his own support to learn that it had gone abruptly missing. There were still no aircraft available. By now, Lewis was certain none would appear.

No reinforcements would appear, either.

When Agee next spoke, it was to announce the inevitable. “Reports from First Battalion. I can't figure—" Her eyes narrowed, and her fingers blurred over the computer terminal. “Oh, my God." Flashing alarms blanketed half of the map facing the battalion's front; even accounting for decoys Lewis guessed the numbers alone were evenly matched.

This, then, was the offensive—Travis Brigade was no longer guarding a quiet sector. “They'll have to pull back. We should reorient C company along that flank."

Colonel Miller swallowed hard. “If they're retreating, then our orders will change, too. Get headquarters on the line. What do they want us to do?"

Their sister battalion began a slow withdrawal as Miller waited for an answer. Symbols on the map—the garish, jarring flicker of something 'presumed hostile'—followed, gradually closing the distance and catching up on their western flank. “We may have to redeploy to cover them, sir," Lewis suggested.

“Yes! We might." Miller gestured angrily at the terminal, where he was making his own attempt at contacting theater headquarters. “But I'm not getting through to command. If they want us to cover the battalion, they'll say so—but I can't raise them. Sergeant, why can't we raise them?"

The sergeant major's mouth felt increasingly dry; he spoke impulsively, before Agee could answer the colonel's question. “If they don't answer, we need to be very careful. There's a salient opening up along this whole axis. C Company has to adjust while there's time. Sir."

“I can't overrule the general," Miller snapped. “And don't give me that look. We'll just… can we try a different link? Different frequency?"

“This is it, sir," Sergeant Agee stammered. “Maybe the radio car? They have older hardware… support for older frequencies…"

It wasn't supposed to make a difference, but Colonel Miller shook his head and kicked the hatch open, jumping down and sprinting to one of the other vehicles. Lewis could hear gunfire, intense and far too close for comfort.

What had, at first, resembled a careful retreat began to reveal itself as simply a haphazard one. Kashkin armor, appearing intermittently off to First Battalion's rear, fired on them with impunity, near as Lewis was able to discern. None of the Jackals made any coordinated attempt to shoot back.

And any time one paused, it was immediately annihilated. He couldn't tell what by, and the frantic calls scrolling past in the message log suggested nobody in the threatened units had time to clarify. Miller's command no longer guarded anyone's flank: there was no flank left to guard.

Except for the one that the fleeing First Battalion now opened. He powered on his headset. “Cobra 6, this is Giza. Do you have any visual on activity to the west?"

“Cobra 6. No—negative. We can't see anything. It's just over the hill. We're only getting second-hand data."

Lewis glanced out the hatch; Miller had found one of the scout cars and was talking on the radio, his words inaudible behind glass. “Be ready to engage hostiles from that area, Cobra."

“We have new orders?"

“We're standing by for orders. Just… be ready."

“Incoming transmission for you, s…" The sergeant glanced around. “Is the colonel back?"

The scout car had moved when Lewis wasn't looking. “Not sure. Who's calling?"

“Command. General Warren." With no other option, he tapped his earpiece; the sergeant nodded.

“—follows. All units, withdraw immediately to objective Magic, echo-echo 6-2-3, 6-4-4 and regroup. We do not hold Capella. Fall back at once."

Capella lay ten kilometers behind them. He couldn't understand how their position had collapsed so quickly and completely. “The town wasn't even under fire. Do they mean 'we won't hold Capella'?"

“I don't know."

“Is anyone covering us?"

“I… I don't know," she repeated.

Lewis switched over to the two-way link. “Colonel Miller, how do you want us to proceed? Sir? Colonel Miller, do you read me?" Movement, out of the corner of his eye: the sergeant was pointing at their map, and a number counting the increasing distance between his vehicle and the scout car.

“Probable incoming," someone shouted. “Button up!"

Their hatch closed, plunging them back into the twilight of the computer monitors and the hum of the positive-pressure system, which had started automatically. Not that they're going to use chemical weapons—right? Just a precaution. He hoped so, anyway. It was the first time he'd really even thought of what that humming implied. “Can you get me the XO?"

“I don't think so. There's no answer. Maybe a different car. Should we start… should we—what should we do?"

Christ. Calls over the radio net had become frantic. He had no choice in the matter. “This is Giza 7. I'm assuming command. All units, report your status and remaining weapons." Nobody quibbled with his decision. Most of the battalion was intact; B Company's command mech had gone dark, though he had no way of knowing why. Even with that, though, and their other losses, there were 80-odd Jackals still active.

An aggressive enemy commander, aware of the JHG's disposition, would need to choose between pressing the battered First Battalion and preventing its mate from cutting off the rear of said attack. But he didn't think they'd try crossing the hills to do it. Limited visibility, rough terrain for tracked armor…

C Company listened when he ordered them to the first navigable pass along their line of retreat, and while he'd wanted them to move faster, the mechs managed to reach it before any developing moreau threat could. What remained of his headquarters unit joined them.

To the extent that he perceived a 'front line,' it was off to the northwest. The other two companies could move safely. Back past Capella, towards the new rallying point where General Warren was trying to stabilize whatever Western THQ still commanded of the Home Guard.

“And us?" Sergeant Agee asked cautiously.

“When they're clear. Another ten minutes, I think." He saw her swallow, fighting back another question. “We should be ready to move, too."

It wasn't much reassurance, but Agee seemed to understand that he couldn't offer her anything more. They were both counting every second. “Hostile armor," she finally reported. “Just a glimpse, but it has to be."

“The pass?"

She nodded. “Two contacts. I think…"

Almost, but not quite, a relief. Things would be over soon. He ordered the sixteen Jackals left in C company to hold their position as long as they could, and return fire with whatever they still had available. And: “Make sure our countermeasures are active. Set them to run automatically—we're not going to have time to fine-tune them."

The vehicle's commander, Jean Peres, didn't question the implications. “Done."

“They're engaged," Agee said. “Two Jackals disabled. Three. There's at least a dozen tanks now." His radio dissolved into panicked shouting while the remaining mechs returned fire—not entirely accurately, he thought, but at least they were holding their ground. Lewis glanced at the map, and the widening distance his battalion had managed to gain from the front.

At least we managed to save most of it. For whatever good that would do: he was under no illusion that he'd see the results. New symbols flashed on the display; before Agee could say anything he raised his own voice. “Contacts, two o'clock—displace! Get the hell out of—"

There was a jolt, and the percussive din of close thunder, and the sense of the world reeling. He tumbled against a sharp corner, in the abrupt darkness, and then something softer. A cry of pain from Sergeant Agee was the first clue that they were still alive.

“Scram the reactor!"

“Safeties beat you to that," the commander answered. “The reactor shut down safely. Internal radiation levels are normal. I think we took a hit to the armored tub around the core, though."

Reassured, at least for the moment, Lewis gathered his wits and straightened up, freeing Sergeant Agee, whom he'd inadvertently pinned. “Sorry. Sergeant Peres—can you restart it?"

“No. Most of the auxiliary systems are fried, I think."

Agee's display flickered weakly. While Lewis used the dim light to retake his seat, she fidgeted with the console. “The radio won't come back online, either," she finally decided. “Battery power, but nothing works."

“Sorry, Mr. Lewis," Peres said, hitting one of his control panels to no effect. “I think we're out of the fight."

Outside, though, the sounds of fire had dwindled to nothing. He didn't think there was much of a fight left to be in: the end had been quick, and brutally efficient. Lewis started counting off seconds in his head, starting over every time he heard a shot.

But it didn't take long before he reached a full minute, and then two. And then, a heavy thump on the hatch. The crew exchanged glances, but they were blind to the outside world. Lewis steeled himself, twisted the hatch lock, and pushed it open.

The face on the other side was not human. A tiger, he thought. “Out," it grunted. “All of you."

Outside he found a platoon's worth of moreau infantry, and twenty-five or so of the Home Guard—disarmed, dazed, and dejected. Around them, pillars of rising smoke marked what once been C company and the headquarters unit; Lewis guessed none of them represented any enemy tanks.

Lewis and the command vehicle's crew joined the other humans. Nobody spoke. Finally, having completed his rounds of the ruined mechs, the moreau who'd knocked on the door circled his way back to the group. “Who's in charge?"

Both his hands raised, Lewis stepped carefully forward. “I am. Calvin Lewis. I'm the command sergeant major of the Third Battalion, Travis Brigade."

A floppy-eared dog muttered something to the tiger, who nodded. “Not Moodies?"

“No. Home Guard. And… we surrender, in case that wasn't obvious."

“I can't take prisoners."

Was he surprised? Lewis couldn't tell if he was—if, after everything, it came as any sort of shock to learn what their fate would be. “Seems like that kind of war, I guess."

The tiger beckoned the dog back, and they exchanged brief words. The dog's expression was ridiculous—the way his ears swiveled, and swung when he glanced briefly skyward. The idea of something like that carrying a heavy machine gun was openly absurd.

But, when finally turned on them, those rounds would kill the human survivors just as easily. The tiger followed his subordinate's upward gaze, grunted, and shrugged. Whatever had transpired, it sent the dog off, speaking into his headset, and the tiger focused once again on Lewis.

“Head south until you find the river, then follow it east. Turn yourself into the first patrol you see. I'll radio them to be on the lookout."

“We'll be treated… safely?"

“It's on the radio now that there were survivors from the battle, so you probably won't disappear. South, though. Any other units will consider you hostile, and the front is moving faster than you can, at least on foot."

“What of our wounded?"

The tiger called out to another moreau, who jogged over to join them. “ Al-danad. Kash za'al-nasiranja—ek nasir sulkosledokat?"

“ Khåtal hass, ina. Nasiranja… nasir, ralkohasha—etkash… etkash sulvalaghanut krasod ralzarastillit."

“ Al-keth? Yassuja." The tiger waved the moreau off. “There are none. None who can't walk."

“What?"

“Completely destroyed or mostly undamaged, he says. You are the undamaged ones."

Calling them 'undamaged' was charitable, although Lewis understood what the tiger meant. “South," he agreed. “Alright. We can handle that."

The moreaus regrouped and, aided by their powered armor, bounded away to the north. Briefly, he entertained the idea that they might continue fighting. Light weapons could be salvaged from the wreckage, and improvised explosives—and thirty survivors, who might be eager for revenge.

Except the thought was ridiculous. The soldiers were exhausted, overwhelmed by what had just transpired. Nearly all of them were from the command section: intelligence analysts, radiomen, drivers. Lewis recognized only six whom he knew had been in C company before its annihilation.

Sergeant Agee looked to the horizon, which ended in dense forest. “What are they going to do to us?"

“I don't know," he admitted.

“Better than what we'd do to them," a corporal intoned. “Hopefully."

Or they eat us, he heard someone mutter. “No. Hey. We'll get through this," Lewis said, trying to sound authoritative. “And we don't want to be out here by nightfall, when identifying us gets harder. So let's move."

Geruda Combat Center, “Fort Sheridan"
Northwestern Arcadia, Jericho
27.11.2560

Ellison Coble found that he was struggling not merely to remain dispassionate, but to keep himself convinced that he was actually awake. The intelligence available to him looked disastrous; the scale of the disaster depended on how completely he internalized the reports he was given.

It didn't help that what the Jericho Home Guard reported was often at odds with surveillance data from the Geruda task force in orbit, and that when Coble pointed this out to his counterparts in the JHG they chose to argue with him instead. Geruda had only just begun authorizing low-altitude reconnaissance flights—now that things were truly in a state of crisis—and while Geruda's ships were out of sight, the Home Guard was the closest he had to any eyes on the ground.

But he did not trust them, and figuring out the truth required careful, exhausting interpolation. He knew that General Royce Stevenson, leading JHG's forces in the western theater, had pulled back towards the town of Keizer. For six hours, representatives of the Guard's senior staff maintained that Stevenson's front lines were a good twenty kilometers further south, even after they'd begun taking indirect fire from much closer.

They also claimed to have shot down at least a dozen moreau aircraft; he could confirm only two crashes from his orbital imagery. And, while Stevenson pointed to the decreased number of sorties by early afternoon, Coble thought a more likely explanation was simply that they'd already hit most of their strategic targets.

Worse, in his mind all indications were that the moreau objective was not the west at all. What he could glean of their troop movements suggested the Commonwealth had massed at least half their army in the Dun Valley; the eastern front had been under a near-constant artillery barrage.

John Devry, the Guard's overall commander, refused to believe Stevenson was only facing a diversionary attack. Between the corporate militias and General Haynes' three combat brigades, most of Arcadia's strength lay in the east—Devry insisted that the moreaus wouldn't be so foolhardy as to confront them head-on.

He'd been shown the penultimate communication from the Commonwealth a day before the deadline it specified. The message, sent after one of their fishing boats had traded fire with a Moody militia patrol hydrofoil, demanded the complete demilitarization of the Arkadiensee and the military outposts on its north bank.

Warily, he'd gone through his surveillance logs. Evidence of increased traffic along the borders of the Kashkin was unmistakable. Coble forwarded his concerns to the orbital task force, too, and at last Colonel Stutts authorized a single reconnaissance pass to collect high-resolution data. Even still, it had taken until six hours before the deadline for the Home Guard to begin mobilizing.

After months of skirmishing in the western mountains, General Devry and the Jericho Administrative Board felt the moreaus wanted to teach Arcadia a lesson and secure some breathing room in the west. That the incursion started there only confirmed their suspicions, and their strategy: bleed the Kashkin's army white until they were willing to discuss terms.

Ellison wasn't certain. The moreaus had to be keenly aware of the disparity in numbers; they weren't likely to be willing to sacrifice so many of their own to teach any mere lessons. He was still worried about the east, and about the Commonwealth's actual objective. Devry, insisting the Home Guard could handle a two-front war if it developed, failed to reassure him.

Now scattered radio reports, beginning just as he'd sat down to dinner, implied Haynes had been engaged along a broad front. In his last conversation with Devry, the general continued to hold that the western sector was the most critical; he'd dismissed Coble's suggestion that the Guard's reserve be positioned closer to the eastern foothills.

Direct imagery from the Geruda task force showed unmistakeable activity along the Dun River, which matched what they heard over the radio. Devry had become abruptly occupied. Ellison would have to wait another hour for the next orbital pass, but the likely outcome wasn't hard to divine.

“What would you do, if you were them? Force one of the bridges over the river?" he asked Captain Whitt—like all of them in the command center, by now running on caffeine and exasperation.

His executive officer showed a little of that in the resigned way he shook his head. “I don't know. Probably not, actually. I'd bait the Home Guard into attacking first."

“I'd feel a lot better about the Guard's chances of not doing anything rash if the artillery bombardment was slowing down. It doesn't look to be—and I don't see a pattern in it."

The moreaus seemed to have several batteries of conventional rocket artillery, which they shuttled between different positions to prevent any effective counterbarrage. What fire support the Home Guard could still muster—air attacks had been brutally effective at addressing that—had by now given up on even making the attempt.

But the moreaus kept moving the batteries anyway; this also complicated Coble's effort to estimate how many were really involved. Enough that ten or fifteen rounds landed every minute somewhere in Arcadian territory. Most of it was ineffective, but: “and there should be a pattern, right?"

“Why, just because they know how to aim?" Dave Whitt pulled up the intelligence log, superimposing reports of their enemy's sorties. He flipped between different overflight times, and shook his head again. “They must know by now where Devry's reserve is. And that he's not moving it."

“Which makes it a known quantity. And if they choose to attack, zeroing in on the reserve at the same time will maximize the disruption it causes. But where else would you put it? If he wants to stay mobile, the Dish is the best place to support either of the two most likely crossings."

'The Dish' referred, colloquially, to a low-lying area between the Alph River and the Erymathian. Officially the Alph marked Arcadia's southeastern border, but Coble thought of the Erymathian—thirty kilometers further north—as the dividing line between the Arcadian core and territory controlled by the Moody family and their mining corporation allies.

Port George Moody, Silver City, and Surrey were all in that buffer zone: half a million people, in total. The Dish, equidistant from all three cities, formed an important crossroads and a logical place to hold the reserve back. That fact alone meant that it would be an important target for the moreaus.

“Alright." Coble thought aloud through the current state of affairs: “Well, it's not all bad news. The south was good terrain for those tanks they're using. In the river valley, they can't maneuver as well as our Jackals can."

“And they're outnumbered."

EJ nodded. “True. And their supply lines are going to become increasingly stressed the further they have to travel. The roads through the Dun Gap are terrible. Their air force must be close to exhausted, too."

“Supplies or men, sir?"

“Both." Having accomplished their goals early on in the operation—he had to assume, at least—it made sense to rest their pilots, and to replenish their ammunition stockpiles. God knows, they used up enough on the Home Guard.

Between them, they agreed on the only reasonable course of action. With the western coast anchored by three Sanganese brigade combat teams, the moreaus were destined to run into a wall they would not risk confronting head-on. That left the east, where the Alph made for an essentially impregnable defensive line.

Beating it would, necessarily, require crippling losses; even the Home Guard would be able to contain any incursion. Stalemate favored Arcadia, not their opponents. Other PMCs could be brought in to fill in the Home Guard's gaps in artillery and armor, and to shut down the moreau air force.

He explained that to John Devry as clearly as he could when the general came to visit. General Devry sounded skeptical, and unconvinced that the moreaus had not already been beaten: he repeated that the front lines had, for the most part, been quiet and the aerial assault had stopped.

Ellison resisted the urge to speak as condescendingly as he might've to a child. “They're giving their air force a chance to recover. That's a narrow window of opportunity for you. Dig on the north bank, and be ready for close infantry combat."

“The north bank? Of the Alph?"

“Their tanks are too vulnerable swimming to risk it, and they're not maneuverable enough to cross the river where it's shallower, up in the hills. They need to capture the bridges, or to build their own. You can probably hold them indefinitely there."

“Probably," Devry agreed. “But General Moody is calling for a counterattack, and that would relieve pressure in the west. With Stevenson reinforced, we can begin pushing them back towards their own border."

“What's the militia's status?"

All three 'divisions'—two or three understrength brigades apiece, so far as Coble knew—were waiting south of the George River, where the Military Directorate that commanded them could protect corporate mining claims on the Bodie Slope or check the flank of any serious attack by the moreaus towards Silver City and the towns upstream.

The militia had yet to see action, and they'd probably been insulated enough from the chaos facing the Home Guard that their morale remained high. Still, Coble thought their position was more precarious than it first appeared: fighting wouldn't have to become much more intense before it threatened their supply lines, and there was little room for maneuver as the terrain worsened behind them.

“But," Devry countered, “you've been saying this is the moreau's main effort. If we beat them here, the war's over. Why not take the opportunity we're being given?"

“The north bank of the river gives you strong, defensible positions. Anything you put south of the Alph worsens how bad of a chokepoint the bridges are for reinforcement and supply. And from what I know, Haynes is pretty battered. You need time to regroup."

“Tomorrow evening is when Moody wants us to be ready for an attack. That's more than a day to put everything together. You don't think that's enough?"

“I think our enemy has control of the airspace and they've already hit the Home Guard's command infrastructure severely—to say nothing of the Directorate. You're proposing to coordinate a massive offensive with limited fire support, poor communications, and forces that have been in combat for almost a full day. And you're proposing to do it completely exposed, in questionable terrain."

Probably, in any given encounter, having Moody available gave allied forces local superiority at a factor of two to one. Based on the Home Guard's performance, Coble doubted that was sufficient—particularly not with moreau aircraft able to harass every tactical maneuver before it could fully develop.

But Devry was insistent. He must've been getting pressure from the civilian government—in turn, being pressured directly by the miners. Despite his theoretical role as an advisor, Coble was barely able to extract a promise to wait until he had a chance to see if support was available from Geruda or the Sanganese.

Colonel Shirakawa, who'd spent the months since his unexpected promotion shoring up the landing pads at Chengbei and expanding the fighter-bomber contingent there, was nonetheless unwilling to commit them. When Coble asked for an explanation, Tatsuki Shirakawa said only: “we're not ready."

The communication link was voice-only, and he couldn't picture Tatsuki's expression. “What do you mean? Why not?"

“We can't see the situation on the ground clearly enough for our planners. And honestly, EJ… we haven't been attacked yet. When I make the first move—and I will, trust me, old friend… but when I do, the syndicate's local comptroller will already be asking me why. It's best if I don't come to them with losses, too."

“There won't have to be losses. The moreaus only seem to field the ArkMash Boreas. Your Sakers will absolutely destroy them in aerial combat, and you might be able to make a difference on the eastern front."

“The militias," Shirakawa said. “Hm. Moody hasn't asked me for anything yet."

“Either way, colonel: I'm asking you."

Shirakawa remained noncommittal. Coble signed off and dropped heavily into his chair. Dave Whitt poked his head through the door of Coble's office. “Sir? Is everything alright?"

“I guess. I'm just exhausted. Why?"

There was a hint of madness in Captain Whitt's weary chuckle. “You growled, sir. I thought maybe somebody from the Zoo snuck in. Uh, we got comms traffic, though. Colonel Stutts is on his way."

“Do I have time for a nap?"

“They started their deorbit five minutes ago. Landing right here, sir, probably any minute." He frowned sympathetically at the way Coble sighed. “Can I get you some more coffee, at least?"

The pot was just finishing up when he heard voices from elsewhere in the office announce the presence of a senior officer. Colonel Stutts put them at ease, and preemptively nodded the same order when he saw Coble. “How are you holding up, major?"

“Fine, sir. You and the rest of the task force?"

“Well enough. Trying to figure out what the hell's going on down here. I heard through the grapevine that John paid you a personal visit earlier. None of us knew why, but that seemed like the kind of thing I wanted to figure out in person, too. We don't chat often enough, do we?"

“I guess not, sir."

“I like you, EJ. It's good to be able to shake your hand."

Stutts did not offer to do so, and Coble realized what he meant. Geruda was on contract, and transmissions between Fort Sheridan and the task force that pertained to that contract were logged. They could be subpoenaed, if things went badly enough. “So far, losses have been bad, but sustainable. We have the advantage in numbers and staying power. For now."

“For now," his superior echoed flatly.

“They want to hit back by tomorrow evening."

Colonel Stutts saw what had happened immediately: “Moody's getting reckless."

“That's about the long and short of it, yes, sir."

“What do they have?"

“Theoretically? Six Jackal brigades, plus another four of mechanized infantry. That's Shawna Haynes—eastern commander of the Home Guard—and what the militias are committing. General Devry is holding another brigade back as the sector reserve."

“How much of that is from the MD?" The constituent militias of the Coordinating Council were assembled from different corporations; the Council's Military Directorate was responsible for organizing them as a single body.

“Half the armored units, and three of the four mechanized ones. 1st Division has two Jackal 65 brigades and two Cataphract brigades, both of them organized about the same way we do. 2nd Division is committing what Arnby calls their 'Assault Brigades'—walkers and scout infantry instead of IFVs, plus what they call a mechanized infantry brigade, but…"

Stutts nodded. “I've read your reports, yes. You don't have to remind me."

Of the ten 'brigades' that constituted the Directorate, at least two existed mostly on paper—3rd Division, representing Orion Coreward Ventures and Dade-Darby-Kitchen, was mostly staffed with policemen and security guards.

The other two units were well-equipped, but Arnby in particular had expanded 2nd Division too quickly for Coble to have any faith in their training. From the way Stutts was considering the order of battle, he agreed with Coble's analysis. “Let's assume the best, though. What are they facing?"

“Well, there's the catch. Somewhere between three and six brigades; at most, two of them armored. The rest is light infantry—some IFVs, and we know they have at least a few powered armor companies from what we've seen in the west since April… the exact quantities aren't clear."

“But we'd have at least a two-to-one advantage." The colonel clicked his tongue, examining the map closely. “And it would be good territory for the Jackals. There are other catches, major, I assume…"

“Beyond what's in my reports?"

Stutts kept looking at the map, with his eyes narrowed. “Forget that I told you I've read them. Or pretend you want to be thorough—in case there was anything you didn't want to put on the record."

“No handshake first?"

“Later, depending on what you're about to tell me."

Ellison snorted. “Understood, sir. The moreaus have been pounding Haynes for most of the day. Radio cars, early-warning units, command vehicles… at this point, communication is badly degraded. It's the same as on the coast—they lost three companies of Jackals trying to coordinate their withdrawal from Capella. Even under the best circumstances, I'd doubt their ability to manage so many moving pieces."

And the Home Guard had no meaningful air support, either as aerial artillery or for reconnaissance. Out of eight light cargo planes converted into ersatz gunships, five had been destroyed on the ground and one of the remainder was undergoing maintenance in the north.

Trying to use the other two was suicide; Moody had given up five of her Dassault attack fighters in a strike on the Commonwealth's main airbase, and Coble couldn't swear that it cost the moreaus a single sortie—Moody had, understandably, been unwilling to risk any more aircraft for a damage assessment.

Stutts listened to everything Ellison had to say, drawing the right conclusions without being led to them: whatever advantage the Home Guard had, numbers alone gave a highly misleading view. “You'd need help from us," he realized.

“Yes. I got Devry to hold off until we could circle back. We need real-time aerial surveillance, and ideally everything our task force can commit for close air support and orbital artillery."

“If we send a Raven down, the Zoo will go after it, though. Won't they? Quite possibly successfully. The stakes go up quite a bit then." He zoomed the map out until it showed the entire planet. This was not a strategically useful view, Coble understood; Stutts meant to indicate that he was no longer paying attention to the war itself. “Central command isn't going to want to approve that. We can make sure you have everything from orbital, but air strikes? Not a chance."

“From what I gather, the Sanganese are in the same boat."

“That's correct. They want to stay neutral. If the western front remains stable, the Kingdom is content to let this play out. It's a win-win situation for them—best-case scenario, if they want to engage, it'll be against an army depleted from taking on the Home Guard and the militias."

Which was a tactically reasonable decision, if also a highly mercenary one. Ellison grimaced. “Can we try to persuade them differently, sir?"

“What's in it for them? Their position is safe right now. Weren't you the one who told me they were working directly with Moody's militias? When they're bloodied, Moody isn't going to have any choice but to become even more reliant on the Sanganese."

“And Arcadia is hung out to dry. I'm not sure I'll be able to convince Devry not to attack. The way he sees it, if they wait any longer, they'll lose the opportunity—and I'm not sure they're wrong."

“They want to take out the moreaus while they can. I understand that. That takes us to the next obvious question, Major Coble: what do the moreaus want?"

“I don't know. You've seen the same demands as I have, sir."

“You have thoughts?"

“I do. Nothing formal, but—"

Stutts held up his hand to interrupt. “Think about it. I'm having an expert brought down as soon as we can spare another transport. I'd like the two of you to come to a conclusion so we can figure out the broader strategy."

“Yes, sir."

“You have a few hours. I'd recommend getting some sleep, if you think you can manage."

Even if he doubted that, Coble wasn't willing to pass up the opportunity—getting out of Fort Sheridan would clear his head, if nothing else. And in the short autotaxi ride to where he lived in Nottoway, a nap started to seem like it might happen, after all.

The prospect vanished jarringly as soon as he opened the door to find the lights on in his apartment. Did I leave them… no. No: even if he had, that didn't explain the faint violin music coming over the speakers from further inside. “Hello? Who's there?"

“Mr. Coble," a voice answered. It was Dani, the moreau who served as the point of contact between Ellison and the Kashkin's military. He'd only seen her a few times in the last few weeks, as tensions escalated between their two countries—generally never for more than a few minutes, just long enough to tell him where to make the next information drop. She held up an ID card—forged, he guessed—that marked her as a maintenance worker at the housing complex. “I'm sorry I had to use this instead of contacting you first. I hope your evening is going well."

“Not particularly. Now I'm even less certain. This is not a safe place for you to be."

He recognized her expressions, by that point, enough to see the sardonic edge in the dog's smile. “No place is particularly safe, is it? You've been very helpful over the past few months, Ellison. I wanted to repay the favor."

“How?"

“My superiors think you should know that we want to avoid external entanglements. I was told that they've noticed a remarkable dearth of Geruda advisors or equipment in the field. The orbital transports we've detected seem too light to be bringing in reinforcements. We haven't targeted them. We won't target them. It is our military's hope that your company might have noticed this."

“Yes. They… we… we also don't want to deepen our involvement. My request for continuous aerial surveillance was declined on those grounds. Geruda might not take proactive measures, depending on what happens next."

“Good."

“If I knew what was going to happen next…" he prompted.

Dani smiled again, and the wryness was even plainer. “Most double agents would start off with more subtlety, Ellison. Nobody's told me our battle plans, anyway. I'm afraid we'll both have to be kept in suspense."

“At least convey the… risk, will you? Call it a 'risk.' Convey that to your superiors. The Jericho Administrative Board isn't officially part of the Yucatec Alliance. Many of the constituent companies are. If there's significant loss of life, or the threat of major property damage… that might be the worst-case scenario. Geruda is the registered PMC who would be responsible, and we'd be under pressure to act."

“I said I don't know our plans. I can guess they'll involve 'major property damage,' though—wars often do."

“Look, I'm tired. I'm not as articulate as I want to be. There's a big difference between 'property damage' and… I don't know, annihilation. One of those can be left up to insurance companies to settle. The other…"

The dog's smile dropped. At once serious, she nodded. “Of course. I don't think our aim is the destruction of Arcadia—just our own safety."

“That's easier to bear. I guess you all understand the need to be cautious, anyway. You're dealing with powers much bigger than your own—they could swat you down in an instant."

“Or let a minor altercation on a minor planet slide. Yes, I know."

“There's inertia, for my employers—the Sanganese, for that matter." Dani perked an ear, surprised. He thought of what Tatsuki had said: when I make the first move. That had to be a fig leaf. “What? They want to stay neutral, too. If they can. If you'll let us."

“Hopefully," the dog said. “And I hope you'll keep our promise in mind, too. If anything comes up, there's a link ID programmed into your computer for a mechanic's shop. Call that ID, ask to speak to a representative, and then disconnect. I'll be back in touch with you as soon as I can after that."

“Is it a real number?"

“Yes. But somebody's reviewing the inbound logs. They'll be looking for that signal."

“Alright. Hopefully—there's that word again, eh? Hopefully we don't have to."

“Right."

Reasonably, Dani intended to wait for cover of darkness to leave—lone moreaus were becoming more suspicious by the hour. He offered to let her stay in his apartment, although she'd clearly felt no qualms about inviting herself in to begin with. Exigent circumstances, the dog apologized a second time.

In any case she was gone when a message woke him, a few hours later, alerting Coble to an incoming transport. Even the brief sleep had helped him immensely, and he thought with fresh perspective on what Dani said over the course of a quick shower and the taxi to Fort Sheridan.

It made the need to stay on the defensive all the more pressing, he decided. The Commonwealth's aims were limited, and could be whittled down further if the intensity of the conflict ebbed and it started to drag on. The empty roads, at that late hour, offered a quiet that only seemed even more reassuring.

Colonel Stutts was waiting. “You slept, didn't you, major? You look better, anyway. That's a relief—I want to give a good impression to our guest."

“I feel better, sir. Coffee's still in order, but…"

“Always is. We—well, in a moment, I guess. Doctor! Over here, please—come in." He looked past Coble and beckoned an unseen figure towards them. Ellison turned to see an old man, whose wispy white hair gave him the appearance of a scatterbrained scientist. His stride, though, was purposeful; the grey eyes behind his thin glasses keen. “This is Dr. Tindall. CODA, retired, and experienced with their 2130 soldiers. He's been a professor of political science for nearly fifty years, now, but a lot of his work is still about those 2130s."

“Call me Arnie," Dr. Tindall said, shaking Coble's hand. “Colonel Stutts wasn't sure if it was the science you wanted, or the experience."

“I'm not sure I know, myself. Welcome to Jericho, Arnie."

“Thank you. It's good to be back."

Back? Ellison's brow lifted. Fifty years of teaching—yeah, he'd have to be in his 80s, now, at least…“You're that Tindall?"

“I am. That's the 'experience,' I suppose."

Then-Captain Tindall had commanded an all-moreau unit—“2130s," after the directive that gave CODA permission to enlist them—on Jericho, holding a captured Sanganese outpost against an intense siege. The hill where the battle had been fought was now in Commonwealth territory; Ellison understood that a memorial, of sorts, had been erected there.

“But," Tindall said, forestalling any further questions. “We can talk about last century another time. What can I help you with?"

“Major, I was hoping we could come to an agreement on what we think the Zoo is after—what their objectives are. And, perhaps, how best to frustrate them."

“I'm well-read on the local history," Tindall assured them. “Something of an interest of mine. I think we all assumed a second war was inevitable, after the Kashkin declared independence. Some of us just figured Arcadia would be the one to start it."

“They beat us to the punch. Most of the fighting since has taken place in the west. Deerhaven, Copper Creek—all these valleys with lots of different settlers in them." Coble pulled up the map, although he noticed that Tindall didn't bother looking. He must've known that already. “The territory is all neutral, officially. It's the Administrative Board's opinion that the moreaus want a more defensible border, and to disrupt mining operations while they're at it."

“Do you not agree, Major Coble?" Arnie asked.

“I don't think it's that limited, sir. I think they want to be safe from us. To do that, they need to cripple Arcadia so badly that the civilian government will agree to whatever terms are offered. Giving up the military, joint control over McKeever Spaceport—hell, occupying McKeever? Anything would be on the table."

That, he went on, explained why the KSDF was in the east: they were going to cross the river. In the coastal mountains, the Home Guard had been left so disrupted by their initial encounters that a meaningful counterattack would take days to assemble, and the moreaus could hold anything less than that back with only a few well-entrenched infantrymen.

By that point, they could've forced a spearhead deep into southeastern Arcadia. Chaos could be created anywhere they desired—each new crossroads let them strike at any number of vulnerable towns. The Home Guard was not equipped to defend against that, and if the KSDF had no desire to hold the territory there was also no reason for the moreaus to leave anything standing.

“Very… aggressive," Tindall summarized when Coble finished. “Slightly paranoid, even, when all other indications are of a limited war."

“As I said—"

Colonel Stutts interrupted him. “I'm the one being insulted, EJ, not you. That was also Dr. Tindall's conclusion when we briefed him in orbit. He thinks we should consider all of eastern Arcadia at risk."

“I see."

Dr. Tindall, finally, examined the map. “Can the Home Guard stop them before they invade?"

“Yes. Probably. But it has to be at the Alph. There's no time or spare equipment to dig in behind the Erymathian."

Tindall pointed to the area further south, where mining claims gave way to unoccupied foothills. “All those towns southeast of the Alph River—those are new, aren't they? Arnby Mining, I think? DDK, the Moody Family, Orion Coreward Ventures… they want off the leash, I bet."

“Yes."

“They see an opportunity to sweep the whole slope clear, all the way to the Dun. They won't consent to waiting north of the river. Hell, they've loved this. Ever since I fought here, and the Alliance de-invested after the orbital strike, they've been able to do whatever they want. They're not listening to you, are they?"

Tindall was perceptive, Ellison thought. “No. Not really."

“After the war for independence, the Kashkin left the Jericho Military Authority largely intact. I imagine they assumed that a central command might keep any upstart militias from continuing to expand. They won't make that mistake a second time."

Coble had heard rumors, even, that the militia's excesses in the first war had been the reason for its abrupt end—that they'd tried to destroy the Arkadiensee Dam, and Jericho's civilian government called an immediate cease-fire to forestall that atrocity. He wasn't surprised. “Unfortunately, as you just said… the Home Guard doesn't have any control over Moody. And I certainly don't. Those militias act on their own."

“I know. You might have to, as well. Because there's another complication: you need to hold them at the river, because you need to hold them in the west."

“The west? You mean the coastal front?"

“Yes. You need to ensure it stays under your control. If the Home Guard collapses, you won't be able to do that. You'll have to shift manpower from the mountains to keep them from Ford City long enough to give you options for a counterattack."

“I don't think Deerhaven or the coast range is the moreau objective, Dr. Tindall."

“Not directly, but the Sanganese will step in, won't they? And the moreaus see them as a dangerous element. As far as they're concerned, Arcadia can be negotiated with—the Kingdom can't. They'll view that as an existential threat. And, let me be quite clear: it is, to both of you—you can't afford the coast to become unstable."

Major Coble didn't see how that would affect negotiations, though, if the Kashkin kept their focus on the east directly instead of seizing the Arcadian territory that served as a buffer between their country and the mountains controlled by the Sanganese. “I believe our intelligence indicates the Kingdom will stay put…"

“Until they can save the day by stepping in to rescue the miners. Or until they see an opportunity for a good saltwater port to land heavy freighters on. Or until they're caught in the crossfire in one of those valleys. Right?" Arnie punctuated the question with a pointed stare, and a brief cock of his head.

“I don't exactly follow."

“If Arcadia can't defend its borders, the Sanganese always have the option to intervene, at any time of their choosing."

“I suppose. But in my opinion, they're extremely unlikely to make the first move. They've said otherwise, but I'd put money on them sitting tight, Dr. Tindall—what would it accomplish for them? Even another saltwater port… they have one in the north already. They could just deepen it, if they had to. Right?"

“That's why I said it's unstable. If the western coast comes down to only the Commonwealth and the Sanganese, conflict is inevitable. What makes you think the Kashkin will let them choose when it starts?"