The one thing marine Captain Liam Henkel had always relied on in disputes with other marines and fleet theoreticians was the fact that unlike starship weapons, ground emplacements were totally unconstrained by mass or weight. He had also earned at least one promotion from his ancillary argument that his theory extended to power systems.
His academy thesis was a demonstration of an orbital defense gun powered by a water mill. The system was as impractical as it could get in terms of starship combat, but on a planet’s surface, his gun could get off shots capable of penetrating an atmosphere and either disabling or outright destroying unshielded electronics at ranges of more than 300 miles. All he needed to build it, the captain would say, was a body of water with a current.
His invention got roughly the same treatment from Skywatch as General Patton’s football-helmet-decorated tank crew uniform did from the War Department during World War 2, but few of his instructors could argue with the numbers. The “Henkel Gun” could credibly join battle with light orbital units and even establish minimal impact shielding with leftover power generation. It wasn’t the vision of the future, by any means, but it made great conversation over beer and pretzels.
Meanwhile, the defense emplacement on El Rey Three wasn’t being evaluated for its conversational potential.
“The missile impacted here, only six feet off the bullseye for the cephalon housing.”
“Sonofabitch,” Henkel growled. “They must have had an hour to line up their shot! Where the hell was our impact cover?”
“We’ve always said just flipping a switch and leaving these things out here was going to lead to trouble,” Staff Sergeant Rory Muldoon pointed out. “Another glorious defeat brought to you by the people who still think automated systems can be more devious than humans.”
“Or who never listened to the advice about fixed fortifications being monuments to human stupidity,” a random passing marine added.
“Our entire species’ history was spent learning how to lie,” Henkel muttered. “Computers have been around for what, couple hundred years? Even if we assigned every programmer with a pulse it would take a thousand forevers to teach computers how to win a five dollar poker hand.” The captain tossed the reinforced ATMAS flat-screen on the scorched table. “How long would it take to just wire up a capsule reactor directly? The guns are still operational, correct?”
“Affirmative.”
“Get me an estimate, sergeant. We can’t afford to turn this into an argument over suspension bridges. The captain wants us out of here and I can’t say I disagree. Make it happen.”
“Sir.” Muldoon climbed over broken stone and twisted metal towards the nine-foot-wide hole in the bunker wall. The El Rey Three sky was roughly the same color as beef gravy. A faint brightness over the northern horizon was the only evidence there was a star in the same system. The men and women of Signals Company Eleven had already agreed the only redeeming feature of ER3 was the gravity. It was only 0.8 terras, which made all their equipment 20% lighter. Other than that, it was about as pleasant as wind-whipped icy rain with a hole in your shoe. The atmosphere wasn’t much better. With oxygen supplements, the marines could operate for up to two hours at a time. The air pressure on the deck was only about 11 psi, which made breathing a chore. On Earth, gravity was one of the things that made comfortable respiration possible. After all, lungs didn’t have to work as hard when oxygen was being held against the surface of the planet.
On ER3, however, marines needed two hours in their transports for every hour outside. Normally they would have compensated with artificial life support or exo-suits. This repair mission, however, required more than its fair share of climbing over or through ruined and broken facilities, which made the heavy environmental suits impractical and artificial life support too cumbersome. Captain Henkel’s team was operating on the theory that the hare could beat the tortoise if the length of the track could be shortened to 100 yards. And if the race could be run as a relay.
“Sir, I have a report on the underground structural integrity.” Corporal Yvette Osprey was Henkel’s early warning system. She always seemed to zero in on the safety issue nobody else thought of. It was one among many reasons she was dispatched to give every LZ the once-over before the company deployed. This time, she went straight for the subterranean access tunnels built on sublevels one and two of the surface defense complex. ER3 and its two small moons orbited at almost exactly the halfway point between the outer planet and the primary. It was the perfect place to install both ground and orbital defense emplacements. Many young cadets wondered long and hard about why Skywatch would park a gun on a planet in several trillion cubic miles of space on the off chance a war would start in orbit. Their instructors were tasked with reminding them that while the guns had limited mobility, the ships they were meant to protect did not. It took one of the Academy’s fondly remembered basketball coaches to explain the theory through a sports metaphor. “Whoever gets to the spot first wins.”
The Skywatch Corps of Engineers team that constructed the base left behind a plaque to commemorate it. Carved into the brass were the words “Planet Three is the place to be.” This became a popular and entertaining meme which later became the unofficial motto of the Old Earth Historical Society for obvious reasons.
Corporal Osprey’s handheld torch revealed quite a bit about the underground infrastructure. By and large, surface defense was a crude marriage between underground power and above-ground weapons protected by heavy structural armor. Planners and strategists had long considered the possibilities for underground weaponry, but had serious reservations about the mechanisms required to create firing opportunities. The simple fact was an underground weapon had to become an above-ground weapon at some point, otherwise the only threat it could address would be from marauding gophers. How this transformation took place was the key question, and for the most part, it was a question that had been avoided.
Until now.
“What in blazes?” Captain Henkel was staring at a rather large structure that most marine officers would agree didn’t belong there.
“Captain, I may be completely off-base, but those look like VLS stabilizers.”
“Only one way to find out.” Henkel produced a universal tool from his field kit and began loosening the service access panel on the closest of the cylindrical metal structures. In a few moments, he had removed the assembly and the modular boards. Inside was the surface of the missile. Like most pre-assembled Vertical Launch Systems, VLS for short, the birds themselves were delivered pre-loaded in the launchers. It was only a matter of removing the gantry access panel to reach the weapon circuitry. There was a companion panel on the missile itself in case the weapons had to be reconfigured or serviced individually.
By the time Henkel had completed his cursory inspection, Corporal Osprey had traveled the breadth of the weapons array. There were 24 missiles in all, arranged in four banks of six launchers each.
“It’s a standard array, sir, but–”
“But why would anyone deploy SRS missiles in VLS launchers on a surface base? These things don’t even have reflective surfaces. They’re chemical-fueled. No electronic warfare systems. The targeting circuitry is three generations out of date! What the hell is going on here?”
By now, the captain had his own torch lit. He had half-climbed inside the access port and was inspecting the inner surface of the launch bore. He was certain he would find something: A serial number, a service record, something that would explain why a set of obsolete missiles that belonged on a 40-year-old ship had been deployed to a base tasked with engaging enemies in orbit.
“Sir?” Osprey arrived at the first missile to discover her captain’s boots hanging out of the gantry access port.
“What in blazes!?” Henkel barked. The corporal stood at attention out of sheer reflex. It was the marine way. When officers shouted, enlisted snapped to. Most of them were certain it happened in their sleep when the nightmares of basic training relapsed from their subconscious. The captain finally extricated himself from the launch bore and landed on his feet. He had just activated his commlink when he froze. Corporal Osprey turned to look at whatever the captain was staring at.
Standing there on the gantry platform was a civilian. The man looked for all the world like a cross between a scattered professor and a lost explorer on some kind of safari. His salt and pepper hair looked like someone had buried and detonated a small explosive in it during a windstorm. He was wearing black on black fatigues, which made Henkel wonder if he was retired Skywatch. He was carrying a light in one hand and a coffee cup in the other.
“What can I do for you, captain?”