The Mammoth Book of SF Wars by Ian Watson [Ed], Ian Whates [Ed] Page A
Authors: Ian Watson [Ed], Ian Whates [Ed]
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wasteland for the deceptive security of distant craters and rills.
An assault rover bearing three lightsuited soldiers rushes past him, only to be hit by fire from the hills. It is thrown upside down, crushing two of the soldiers beneath it. The third man, his legs broken and his suit punctured, manages to crawl from the wreckage. He dies at Giordano’s feet, his arms reaching out to him.
He has no idea whether Baker Company has survived, but he suspects it hasn’t, since he soon sees a bright flash from the general direction of the crater it was supposed to occupy and hold.
In the confines of his suit, he weeps and screams and howls against the madness erupting around him. In the end, he goes mad himself, cursing the same god to whom he prayed earlier for the role to which he has been damned.
If God cares, it doesn’t matter. By then, the last of Giordano’s oxygen reserves have been exhausted; he asphyxiates long before his three hours are up, his body still held upright by the Mark III Valkyrie Combat Armour Suit.
When he is finally found, sixty-eight hours later, by a patrol from the victorious Pax Astra Free Militia, they are astonished that anything was left standing on the killing ground. This sole combat suit, damaged only by a small steel pipe wedged into its CPU housing, with a dead man inexplicably sealed inside, is the only thing left intact. All else has been reduced to scorched dust and shredded metal.
So they leave him standing.
They do not remove the CAS from its place, nor do they attempt to prise the man from his armour. Instead, they erect a circle of stones around the Valkyrie. Later, when peace has been negotiated and lunar independence has been achieved, a small plaque is placed at his feet.
The marker bears no name. Because so many lives were lost during the battle, nobody can be precisely certain of who was wearing that particular CAS on that particular day.
An eternal flame might have been placed at his feet, but it wasn’t, because nothing burns on the Moon.
POLITICS
Elizabeth Moon
There’s an art to writing military SF well, an art at which Elizabeth Moon is an acknowledged master. Moon, whose novel The Speed of Dark won a Nebula Award in 2004 and was shortlisted for the Arthur C. Clarke Award the previous year, attempted her first novel at the age of six and started writing science fiction in her teens. “Politics” is a prime example of Moon at her best: the military aspects infused with a sense of authenticity that few can match, no doubt aided by her time as a US Marine – she achieved the rank of 1st Lieutenant. This is more than simply an “action” piece, however, and it’s the added dimensions that help Moon’s work stand out.
P OLITICS IS ALWAYS lousy in these things. Some guy with rank wants something done, and whether it makes any sense or not, some poor slob with no high-powered friends gets pushed out front to do it. Like Mac … he wants a fuzzball spit-polished, some guy like me will have to shave it bare naked and work it to a shine. Not that all his ideas are stupid, you understand, but there’s this thing about admirals – and maybe especially that admiral – no one tells ’em when their ideas have gone off the screen. That landing on Caedmon was right out of somebody’s old tape files, and whoever thought it up, Mac or somebody more local, should’ve had to be there. In person, in the shuttles, for instance.
You know why we didn’t use tanks downside … right. No shields. Nothing short of a cruiser could generate ’em, and tanks are big enough to make good targets for anyone toting a tank-bashing missile. Some dumbass should have thought of shuttles and thought again, but the idea was the cruisers have to stay aloft. No risking their precious tails downside, stuck in a gravity well if something pops up. Tradition, you know? Marines have been landed in landing craft since somebody had to row the boat ashore. Marines have died that way just about as
An assault rover bearing three lightsuited soldiers rushes past him, only to be hit by fire from the hills. It is thrown upside down, crushing two of the soldiers beneath it. The third man, his legs broken and his suit punctured, manages to crawl from the wreckage. He dies at Giordano’s feet, his arms reaching out to him.
He has no idea whether Baker Company has survived, but he suspects it hasn’t, since he soon sees a bright flash from the general direction of the crater it was supposed to occupy and hold.
In the confines of his suit, he weeps and screams and howls against the madness erupting around him. In the end, he goes mad himself, cursing the same god to whom he prayed earlier for the role to which he has been damned.
If God cares, it doesn’t matter. By then, the last of Giordano’s oxygen reserves have been exhausted; he asphyxiates long before his three hours are up, his body still held upright by the Mark III Valkyrie Combat Armour Suit.
When he is finally found, sixty-eight hours later, by a patrol from the victorious Pax Astra Free Militia, they are astonished that anything was left standing on the killing ground. This sole combat suit, damaged only by a small steel pipe wedged into its CPU housing, with a dead man inexplicably sealed inside, is the only thing left intact. All else has been reduced to scorched dust and shredded metal.
So they leave him standing.
They do not remove the CAS from its place, nor do they attempt to prise the man from his armour. Instead, they erect a circle of stones around the Valkyrie. Later, when peace has been negotiated and lunar independence has been achieved, a small plaque is placed at his feet.
The marker bears no name. Because so many lives were lost during the battle, nobody can be precisely certain of who was wearing that particular CAS on that particular day.
An eternal flame might have been placed at his feet, but it wasn’t, because nothing burns on the Moon.
POLITICS
Elizabeth Moon
There’s an art to writing military SF well, an art at which Elizabeth Moon is an acknowledged master. Moon, whose novel The Speed of Dark won a Nebula Award in 2004 and was shortlisted for the Arthur C. Clarke Award the previous year, attempted her first novel at the age of six and started writing science fiction in her teens. “Politics” is a prime example of Moon at her best: the military aspects infused with a sense of authenticity that few can match, no doubt aided by her time as a US Marine – she achieved the rank of 1st Lieutenant. This is more than simply an “action” piece, however, and it’s the added dimensions that help Moon’s work stand out.
P OLITICS IS ALWAYS lousy in these things. Some guy with rank wants something done, and whether it makes any sense or not, some poor slob with no high-powered friends gets pushed out front to do it. Like Mac … he wants a fuzzball spit-polished, some guy like me will have to shave it bare naked and work it to a shine. Not that all his ideas are stupid, you understand, but there’s this thing about admirals – and maybe especially that admiral – no one tells ’em when their ideas have gone off the screen. That landing on Caedmon was right out of somebody’s old tape files, and whoever thought it up, Mac or somebody more local, should’ve had to be there. In person, in the shuttles, for instance.
You know why we didn’t use tanks downside … right. No shields. Nothing short of a cruiser could generate ’em, and tanks are big enough to make good targets for anyone toting a tank-bashing missile. Some dumbass should have thought of shuttles and thought again, but the idea was the cruisers have to stay aloft. No risking their precious tails downside, stuck in a gravity well if something pops up. Tradition, you know? Marines have been landed in landing craft since somebody had to row the boat ashore. Marines have died that way just about as
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