The MIEU Network, already operating at only a fraction of its full capacity, had been dealt a deadly blow. One of the starship AIs was completely destroyed, while the major complex of processing nodes, Derna herself, was offline and also possibly destroyed. The Command Constellation AI, Cassius, which had been overseeing the operation and deployment of the network, had been isolated on board Derna and was out of touch. Worse, the relay/router satellites, an incomplete beginning to the necessary full array of redundant communication links, had been linked to Derna and were also out of the running. What Warhurst had at his disposal now was a scattered and disorganized array of computers with an aggregate processing power equivalent to perhaps five percent of Cassius and the Derna’s network system alone.
What he hoped to do, however, was reestablish the orderly flow of data within a truncated portion of the MIEU Net. He needed to know where each of his Marines was, what his status was, and what he was doing. The Marines all needed to talk with one another and with personnel up the chain of command, as well as interface with their weapons’ aiming and ammo programming systems. Ideally, they needed access to everything from basic information on Ishtar and the Frogs to ballistics tables, stores and logistical lists, and interactive maps.
More, Warhurst knew he needed to reestablish a message routing system that would let him talk with any subset of the ARLT he desired, whether that be all of the Marines, only the squad leaders, the officers, the pilot AIs, or any other combination imaginable. To that end, he had the talents of Lander One’s AI, a utilitarian Corps-issue, Honeywell-Sony Mark XL that had the personality of a rock and an initiative to match, but a fair set of software tools for jury-rigging a new command/control network.
In the meantime, he had radio communications on twelve available channels. They could work with that…at least for now. Given time and half a chance, he might even be able to restore partial linkage through the Marines’ neural implants—faster, more secure, and less prone to garbling than straight radio.
The trouble was, they didn’t have much time at all. That monstrous gun would keep firing until the starships were destroyed, and then it would turn on the ARLT, unless Task Force Kerns was able to carry out its suicidal mission.
Damn it! Why hadn’t he given the order to destroy that damned weapon as soon as they’d had the chance? The hell with the civilians’ needs to study everything in sight!
Now everything, everything, depended on the next few minutes….
Task Force Kerns
Depths of An-Kur, Ishtar
0007 hours ST
They raced down the stone passageway, searching for the proper turning of the way. Without the net, they no longer had access to the maps and 3D scans either of An-Kur’s tunnel complex or of the similar complex at Tsiolkovsky on Earth’s moon. What they had instead were their own memories of this alien labyrinth, memories acquired only hours ago under less than optimum conditions.
“This way!” Valdez snapped. “Lieutenant! Down this way!” She recognized the opening in the wall to the right, the basaltic rock to either side scarred by laser pulses and shrapnel from RPG bursts. A pair of Frog warriors emerged from the opening, brandishing spears with curved blades. Honey Deere burned them both down before anyone else could manage a target lock.
There were fourteen Marines in the hastily assembled task force, counting Valdez and Lieutenant Kerns. The rest were a motley collection of NCOs from several platoons pulled from the LZ because they each had a key asset highly prized by Marine field vets: experience. The lowest ranking of them all was Corporal Luttrell, and in his six years of service so far he’d managed to see action in Egypt, China, and Colombia, pick up a Bronze Star and two Purple Hearts, and be busted twice for insubordination.
There would be no room in these narrow tunnels for men or women who hadn’t been under fire and learned how to cope with it. That was why Valdez had turned Garvey, Garroway, and Vinita away, along with several other newbies who’d volunteered. They’d done well enough in the firefight earlier, all of them…but often the second time under fire was the telling one, the moment when a Marine steeled himself to go knowingly into Hell’s jaws, dead certain of what awaited him there. She’d seen Marines who’d gone through their first firefight without a quiver freeze solid on their second encounter with the demon of combat. She was taking no chances.
Ahannu warriors and human slaves spilled into the tunnel ahead, dimly seen figures throwing weirdly flickering shadows from the Marines’ helmet lamps. Deere’s plasma gun stuttered, the flashes strobing wildly in the near darkness. Lasers, their beams made visible in the dust and smoke filling the tunnel, crisscrossed in brief, snapping flashes, and an RPG hissed through the air, swerving to turn a corner ahead, then detonating with a savage blast. A naked, tattooed human wielding a massive, double-headed ax charged to within two meters of the Marine column; Valdez triggered her 2120, twitching the muzzle up, the pulse slashing the man from groin to sternum, spilling his intestines to the ground in a bloody gush.