Re: Mankind Rising - A War of the Worlds Sequel
Posted: 2011-01-07 05:54pm
Brace yourselves, update inbound
Chapter Two
Flag Briefing Room, UES Thunder Child, Between Earth and Mars
November 30th 1963
Barely a week in to the campaign and things had started to go wrong. Sir James sat at the head of the conference table, surrounded by his subordinate quadroon commanders, listening to the seemingly endless liturgy of problems, complaints and disagreements between them.
First the Admiral from the African Colonies was reporting all the problems with his groups of ships, the Mombasa, Tripoli, Johannesburg, Cape Town and Cairo. You had to give them credit James thought. The Colonies had been offered British-built ships for their forces to use, or senior crew positions instead. Typically, they’d chosen neither, demanding only the designs and some consultants from Germany for construction. They showed great spirit and made very competent officers, but as Admiral Verena Boehm had just delicately explained “The ships have a few major quality-control problems.” In other words, the damn ships don’t work properly. I’ll have to use them as troopships at best, sacrificial goats at worst.
Next up was Sky Marshall Jack Kennedy of the American ships. He was complaining, unsurprisingly, that his ships hadn’t received the latest bombardment warheads from the Sheffield Project. Yeah, as if I’m going to let the goddamn Americans haul nuclear weapons around. They’d start dropping them at the first sign of trouble. James sighed. Or worse, lose them in space.
Finally was Grand Admiral Donitz, old, grizzled (and some said senile) veteran that he was. He was annoyed about the horrendous mishmash that was the rank structures. Admirals of the Fleet, Grand Admirals, Sky Marshalls, Flag Captains, Line Captains, and more. He’s right, it is a mess. Time to put my foot down.
“Herr Donitz, I agree that the assortment of titles is indeed a mess, but as we all agreed at the Potsdam Conference in '45, this is how it would be. Each national contingent could chose whatever ranks they wished. But we also agreed a clear chain of command. That is not, nor has ever been in doubt. I’m sorry if it’s difficult to remember whether to address your colleagues as Admiral or Marshall. But that’s the way it is and we are certainly not to change it while we’re halfway to Mars. Besides, remembering titles is what staff officers are for.” That aside raised a chuckle from the commanders.
“Now, as for the rest of it. I hereby command that each ship is to second a technical or maintenance crew to Admiral Boehm’s command, so as to assist the African ships with their...technical problems.” Boehm looked sheepish at the statement.
“And Sky Marshall, you know we have only a limited number of bombardment warheads. Your ships are not built to launch them, ours, the Germans and the Russians are built with bombardment in mind. It would be very inefficient to issue the warheads to your ships. And that, Marshall, is final. Understood?” James’ tone invited no objection.
“Perfectly Admiral.” Kennedy was clearly angry about it, but he knew a hopeless argument when he saw one.
“Right. Now that the status updates are out of the way, it’s time we went over the battle plan for this campaign.” Campaign? Crusade more like. I just hope we do better than the medieval knights do. “We know from our prior experience with the Martians that they are not particularly well-suited to Earth-conditions. They evolved in lower gravity, so they couldn’t move very easily. Conversely, our troops will be able to move much easier on Mars, even in combat suits. However, their technology is impressive, easily comparable to what we have now developed. They will resist us, most likely with more fighting machines and heat-rays. And...” James clicked on the display screen, showing satellite photos of the Great Gun on Mars. Several dark mutterings could be heard as they recognised the image.
“...this. This is what they used to fire their Cylinders at Earth. It is conceivable that they will use it to launch interceptor craft, or possibly even munitions to strike us directly. Therefore, this will be our highest priority target upon achieving Mars orbit. The Weybridge and the Shepperton will launch their warheads to blanket this area, destroying this threat.”
James quickly gazed the reactions of his fellows. Russian Fleet Marshall Ramius was looking rather eager at the prospect of the bombardment, whilst General de Gaulle looked uneasy. Marshall Kennedy still looked furious that the warheads would have the Union Flag on them rather than the Stars and Stripes. James moved on to the next image.
“These are what we believe to be an array of massive heat-rays. They are scattered in strategic positions around the Great gun and what are presumably population centres. They are clearly large-scale weapons whose only conceivable uses would be as an interplanetary weapon, or as a ground-to-space weapon, to attack our ships. Either way, we won’t take chances. Grand Admiral Donitz, your ships Hamburg, Bremen and Aachen will launch your warheads to destroy these targets.
“We shall not fail in our duty Sir James.”
“I expect no less Herr Donitz. And finally, these massive canal structures. These provide the irrigation for the Martian cities. They must also be destroyed. We have identified five key junctions that, if destroyed will cripple the whole network. Marshall Ramius, the Moscow’s Vengeance and the Kiev’s Justice will hit those targets.”
“Good...a chance to strike a body blow at the hated enemy. Thank you Admiral.” Ramius spoke in his strange way, the Russian accent inexplicably joined by a Scottish twist. James had asked Marko once about that. The canny Russian had simply shrugged and muttered something about “only living twice.” James had decided not to ask any further.
“Admiral Boehm, General de Gaulle, Marshall Kennedy and Shogun Genda, you will deploy your ships in low orbit in preparation for landing operations. I want your planes and troops ready to go as soon as we reach orbit. Once we’ve taken down the Great Gun, the mega heat rays and the canals, we deploy our troops to cut off and lay siege to the Martian cities. Classic shock and awe tactics. Whatever happens, we must keep the initiative. If we get bogged down we’re done for. We’re at the end of an impossibly long supply line, with only a handful of ships available for reinforcements and a two-week trip for them to arrive. Everyone clear on that?”
James got a chorus of “Yes sirs” and dismissed the top brass of mankind’s fleet. Then, once he was sure they were out of earshot, he collapsed back down into his chair, sighed deeply and prayed to a God he’d long denied that this would all work as the public hoped it would.
A little voice in his head whispered that the problems had only just begun.
Chapter Two
Flag Briefing Room, UES Thunder Child, Between Earth and Mars
November 30th 1963
Barely a week in to the campaign and things had started to go wrong. Sir James sat at the head of the conference table, surrounded by his subordinate quadroon commanders, listening to the seemingly endless liturgy of problems, complaints and disagreements between them.
First the Admiral from the African Colonies was reporting all the problems with his groups of ships, the Mombasa, Tripoli, Johannesburg, Cape Town and Cairo. You had to give them credit James thought. The Colonies had been offered British-built ships for their forces to use, or senior crew positions instead. Typically, they’d chosen neither, demanding only the designs and some consultants from Germany for construction. They showed great spirit and made very competent officers, but as Admiral Verena Boehm had just delicately explained “The ships have a few major quality-control problems.” In other words, the damn ships don’t work properly. I’ll have to use them as troopships at best, sacrificial goats at worst.
Next up was Sky Marshall Jack Kennedy of the American ships. He was complaining, unsurprisingly, that his ships hadn’t received the latest bombardment warheads from the Sheffield Project. Yeah, as if I’m going to let the goddamn Americans haul nuclear weapons around. They’d start dropping them at the first sign of trouble. James sighed. Or worse, lose them in space.
Finally was Grand Admiral Donitz, old, grizzled (and some said senile) veteran that he was. He was annoyed about the horrendous mishmash that was the rank structures. Admirals of the Fleet, Grand Admirals, Sky Marshalls, Flag Captains, Line Captains, and more. He’s right, it is a mess. Time to put my foot down.
“Herr Donitz, I agree that the assortment of titles is indeed a mess, but as we all agreed at the Potsdam Conference in '45, this is how it would be. Each national contingent could chose whatever ranks they wished. But we also agreed a clear chain of command. That is not, nor has ever been in doubt. I’m sorry if it’s difficult to remember whether to address your colleagues as Admiral or Marshall. But that’s the way it is and we are certainly not to change it while we’re halfway to Mars. Besides, remembering titles is what staff officers are for.” That aside raised a chuckle from the commanders.
“Now, as for the rest of it. I hereby command that each ship is to second a technical or maintenance crew to Admiral Boehm’s command, so as to assist the African ships with their...technical problems.” Boehm looked sheepish at the statement.
“And Sky Marshall, you know we have only a limited number of bombardment warheads. Your ships are not built to launch them, ours, the Germans and the Russians are built with bombardment in mind. It would be very inefficient to issue the warheads to your ships. And that, Marshall, is final. Understood?” James’ tone invited no objection.
“Perfectly Admiral.” Kennedy was clearly angry about it, but he knew a hopeless argument when he saw one.
“Right. Now that the status updates are out of the way, it’s time we went over the battle plan for this campaign.” Campaign? Crusade more like. I just hope we do better than the medieval knights do. “We know from our prior experience with the Martians that they are not particularly well-suited to Earth-conditions. They evolved in lower gravity, so they couldn’t move very easily. Conversely, our troops will be able to move much easier on Mars, even in combat suits. However, their technology is impressive, easily comparable to what we have now developed. They will resist us, most likely with more fighting machines and heat-rays. And...” James clicked on the display screen, showing satellite photos of the Great Gun on Mars. Several dark mutterings could be heard as they recognised the image.
“...this. This is what they used to fire their Cylinders at Earth. It is conceivable that they will use it to launch interceptor craft, or possibly even munitions to strike us directly. Therefore, this will be our highest priority target upon achieving Mars orbit. The Weybridge and the Shepperton will launch their warheads to blanket this area, destroying this threat.”
James quickly gazed the reactions of his fellows. Russian Fleet Marshall Ramius was looking rather eager at the prospect of the bombardment, whilst General de Gaulle looked uneasy. Marshall Kennedy still looked furious that the warheads would have the Union Flag on them rather than the Stars and Stripes. James moved on to the next image.
“These are what we believe to be an array of massive heat-rays. They are scattered in strategic positions around the Great gun and what are presumably population centres. They are clearly large-scale weapons whose only conceivable uses would be as an interplanetary weapon, or as a ground-to-space weapon, to attack our ships. Either way, we won’t take chances. Grand Admiral Donitz, your ships Hamburg, Bremen and Aachen will launch your warheads to destroy these targets.
“We shall not fail in our duty Sir James.”
“I expect no less Herr Donitz. And finally, these massive canal structures. These provide the irrigation for the Martian cities. They must also be destroyed. We have identified five key junctions that, if destroyed will cripple the whole network. Marshall Ramius, the Moscow’s Vengeance and the Kiev’s Justice will hit those targets.”
“Good...a chance to strike a body blow at the hated enemy. Thank you Admiral.” Ramius spoke in his strange way, the Russian accent inexplicably joined by a Scottish twist. James had asked Marko once about that. The canny Russian had simply shrugged and muttered something about “only living twice.” James had decided not to ask any further.
“Admiral Boehm, General de Gaulle, Marshall Kennedy and Shogun Genda, you will deploy your ships in low orbit in preparation for landing operations. I want your planes and troops ready to go as soon as we reach orbit. Once we’ve taken down the Great Gun, the mega heat rays and the canals, we deploy our troops to cut off and lay siege to the Martian cities. Classic shock and awe tactics. Whatever happens, we must keep the initiative. If we get bogged down we’re done for. We’re at the end of an impossibly long supply line, with only a handful of ships available for reinforcements and a two-week trip for them to arrive. Everyone clear on that?”
James got a chorus of “Yes sirs” and dismissed the top brass of mankind’s fleet. Then, once he was sure they were out of earshot, he collapsed back down into his chair, sighed deeply and prayed to a God he’d long denied that this would all work as the public hoped it would.
A little voice in his head whispered that the problems had only just begun.