And what if the armor had bullet holes? If Moffat had enough guts to face Philips, there might be a video record in Philips’s helmet. Even if Moffat shot him from behind, a pompous ass like Moffat might have said something over the interLink before pulling the trigger. I could just see him saying, “Philips, this is for Lilly.” I could also see him standing over Philips body, maybe kicking him a time or two for good measure.
Shaking my head to clear those thoughts, I went to my room, stripped out of my bodysuit, and grabbed a towel. I found the medicine for my shoulder and gave myself a double dose, then headed for the showers. What if I ran into Moffat in there, would I attack him or ignore him? It would be one or the other; talking was out of the question.
The officers’ shower was empty. There might not have been many officers left, and those still alive may well have needed a drink more than a shower. By now every natural-born knew we could no longer win this war. Only the cowards who ran would survive the next battle. I thought about the deserters come judgment day—when the Avatari caused the sun to go supernova. Would the world suddenly melt around them, or would it happen gradually over centuries? Sweetwater had never said how long it would take for the sun to expand. Would it be a year or a hundred years or a thousand? General Haight made that comment about our gooses being cooked whether we won or lost the war, not the scientists. What was a thousand years or a hundred thousand in terms of space? However long it took, I hoped the deserters would realize they had leaped out of the frying pan and into a hot fire indeed. Heroes and cowards, we’d all burn as one on that day.
Semper fi …or should I have said “semper fry”?
I stepped into the shower and turned on the water. Strands of water arced out of the showerhead. I made the water as hot as I could, felt it lightly burning my skin, watched steam rise into the air around me.
So what if we all died, what did it matter? What did death mean to a clone? Heaven and hell were the domain of natural-borns. At least there would be no more talk about “fighting for Earth” or “preserving the Unified Authority” or “making the galaxy safe for mankind.” From here on out, the most anyone could hope for was to take a few Mudders down with them.
This strange enemy had changed the nature of war. My shoulder hurt, but the medicine had already begun its magic, and the hot water felt good.
I finished my shower and dressed. Then I went to Base Command and reported in. As I waited to see General Glade, I noticed other generals milling around the building. Newcastle and Haight argued in a nearby office. I did not see them, but I recognized their voices. Army command must have moved into this building as well; I noticed several aides in Army drab.
Huuuuh huuuh. “Lieutenant Harris.” Glade had cleared his throat as he came to meet me.
I stood and saluted. He returned the salute.
“Has the Army moved in with you, sir?” I asked.
“It would appear so,” Glade said. “They lost their headquarters in the fighting. Let’s talk in my office.” He turned and started back down the hall. I followed.
A small food cart had been placed in a corner of the office. On it sat trays with several kinds of meats, breads, and vegetables. He even had packets of mayonnaise and mustard.
“Help yourself,” Glade said. As I reached for a plate, he added something that took me by surprise. “We fought that whole damn battle for nothing, yesterday; the Science Lab is useless.”
“Useless?” I asked.
“Burton didn’t tell you?” Glade asked.
I lowered my plate back and stepped away from the cart. “Tell me what, sir?” I asked.
“Arthur Breeze is missing.”
“Missing? General, if there’s one man on New Copenhagen who knows there’s no place to run …” I said. Breeze was the one who figured out that the aliens planned to bake the planet.
Glade sat down behind his desk. “Not Breeze, he didn’t run away. Sweetwater’s the one who would have bolted. He’s the coward.”
“So what happened?” I asked.
“All we know at this point is that Breeze stole a private plane,” Glade said. “We don’t know where he went with it.”
“Sweetwater doesn’t know?” I asked.
“Apparently not,” Glade said.
Bright light from the ion curtain poured in through the window behind Glade’s desk. It illuminated the back of his bald, parakeet-shaped skull. The light seemed to form a silvery halo behind him as he sat, silently watching me.
“You don’t think much of Sweetwater,” I said as I went back to making my sandwich.
“No, I don’t,” Glade agreed. “The little runt ran out on Terraneau.”
“Maybe he’s more cut out to be a scientist than a soldier,” I said as I selected two slices of bread.
“He better be, ’cause he’s all we have now,” Glade said. “Lieutenant, I’m not sure how much Major Burton actually knows about the last attack.”
“He said it went badly,” I said, “but he did not know any specifics.”
“Here are the specifics, Harris,” Glade said. “The armory was destroyed. All our weapons, all our ammunition—buried. The Avatari destroyed the Hotel Valhalla. Did you know that they got the Valhalla?”
“Major Burton took me by the hotel,” I said.
Huuuuhh, Glade grunted, shaking his head and clearing his throat.
“They just about cleaned out the Army. Newcastle is down to about twenty thousand men. I have less than ten thousand Marines. I think the entire New Copenhagen militia was wiped out, but General Hill still has all of his pilots, for all of the good those grounded bastards do us.
“We lost it all protecting the specking scientists, then Breeze just ups and runs. Why did we listen to them?”
“We didn’t have any choice, sir,” I said.
“No, we did not.” Glade reached up and rubbed his temples, then went on. “General Newcastle wants to bring in any civilians old enough to carry a gun. There’s no point in bringing in more bodies, not with all of our guns buried under that hotel.”
“It doesn’t sound like more bodies would make much of a difference,” I agreed.
“They fought a completely different battle this time, Harris. Did Burton tell you that? Did he tell you that they attacked on two fronts?”
“There were one hundred thousand this time?” I asked.
Glade shook his head. “The same damned fifty thousand, but they attacked on two fronts. They sent half their men in from the east side of town, and we didn’t have a single platoon in place to meet them. Not a single specking platoon.
“They always came in from the west. Why did they have to pick this battle to start thinking strategies?”
He sat and thought for a moment. “Five days ago we had too many men and too many weapons, and we couldn’t decide which one we wanted to throw away first. Now look at us.”
That wasn’t exactly accurate, but I knew better than to correct the general. Five days ago we were trying to decide whether to throw men or munitions at the Avatari, but we already knew we had limited supplies of both.
“Sir, what about the rocket launchers?” I asked. “Wasn’t the Army constructing them around campus?”
“Completed,” Glade said, sounding more miserable and frustrated than ever. “The only problem is that we left the damned rockets in the armory for safekeeping.”
Glade leaned back in his chair. The chair looked comfortable, but the general clearly took no comfort from it. “Do you know where that leaves us, Harris? That leaves us so far up shit creek we’re practically to the kidneys.”
Glade droned on about the battle, but I paid little attention. I felt like someone had drilled a hole in my head and poured thick oil into my brains. Thoughts came slowly. The world was coming to an end, and all I could do was hang on for the ride. I finished my sandwich in three bites.