UNIVERSAL TURBULENT

XXVI - PLANET EARTH

A voice spoke in Morgan's ear. She recognized it as belonging to Kendall Riob, a sixteen-year-old who actually liked the stuff they served in the mess hall and couldn't get enough of it. "Alpha Three to Alpha One... I have smoke on my forward positions. Over".

Morgan knew what that meant. The smoke was intended to blind her troops. Infantry would follow, and not just any infantry, but infantry supported by cyborgs. They would hit the front lines together, attempt to flank her, and attack Page's rear.

Morgan commanded what amounted to a light battalion, including three rifle companies of approximately one hundred thirty cadets each, plus a headquarters company that consisted of herself, some com techs, the medium armor weapons (MAWs) and two 60mm mortars. The same ones firing from her rear.

Her mission, as laid down by General Page, was to delay the enemy forces long enough for the regulars to secure the inner city and turn toward the south. That was a task the general had assigned to himself.

The cadets had no cyborgs of their own, the loyal Borges having been employed elsewhere, which meant that shoulder launched missiles (SLAMs) would have to do.

Designed for use against Midvalian cyborgs, the SLAMs were the only effective weapons the cadets could use on Sentient armor. Morgan forced confidence into her voice. "Alpha One to Three... Hold them as long as you can and fall back. Four will cover your withdrawal. Over".

Riob clicked the hand-held mike two types by way of a reply. Morgan looked at Rycker. He grinned. "You're doing good, ma'am. Keep it up".

Morgan didn't feel as if she was doing well but smiled nonetheless. An enormous emerged from the smoke more than a mile in front of her. She chinned her visor to full and leapfrogged to video supplied by one of her squad leaders. Range, windage, and other information scrolled over the shot. The borg stood twenty five feet tall, weighed fifty tons, and walked on four legs. It mounted multiple energy cannons, an extendable gatling g*n, missile racks, grenade launchers, and a whole not of machine guns.

Twin streams of 50 caliber machine g*n fire reached out to embrace the cyborg. Explosions winked and sparked all across its hull as the monster fired in response.

There was a brilliant, eye-searing flash as a weapons emplacement ceased to exist.

That's when the motor-driven gatling g*n opened fire. It was capable of putting out more than six thousand rounds a minute. A curtain of brown soil flew into the air as the 20 m shells found a trench and followed it from west to east. An entire squad of second-year students was ripped to shreds. Morgan's video went to black and jumped to the perspective of a fire team leader.

Other lesser forms could be seen to either side of the gargantuan machine. There were Trooper IIs, Trooper IIIs, and a company of battle-armored Legionnaires closing fast.

But nothing comes for free, and while they were severely outgunned, the youngsters had a dozen SLAMs plus three reloads each. Hidden until now, the gunners stood, showed their missiles the target, and pressed their triggers. Two of the SLAMs fell victim to electronic countermeasures, and one exploded in midair, but the rest found the quad.

Explosions rocked the enormous body, tunneled their way in, and blew the machine apart. A choice yelled "Camerone!"

Morgan nodded grimly. School was over. Graduation was hell.

* * *

The TOC was located in a heavily armored crawler that smelled as new as it was. A kind of pleasant mixture of plastic, sealants, and ozone. Stationary for the moment, it was located a half mile south of the line of contact (LC). Video feeds provided by the steadily advancing cyborgs, helmet cans, and airborne surveillance units flickered across the monitors racked above John Usmos' head.

He felt conflicting emotions. In spite of the fact that John didn't care for Luton, he had a good deal of respect for the officer and wanted the older man's approval.

That's why Usmos had pushed his troops so hard, to show what he could do. He turned to his XO. She was, or had been, a captain in the 1st REC, and still wore the oval-shaped unit badge on her green beret. The words "Honneur" and "Fidelite" were inscribed at its center. "What's the holdup? We should be three miles further by now".

The TOC jerked into motion as a fountain of debris leapt into the air. Shrapnel rattled against the crawler's sides. The female officer grabbed a handhold. "Yes, sir. They threw what looks like a battalion into the gap. It's slowing us down".

"A battalion?" John asked incredulously. "You've seen the intel summeries. They have no reserves. None at all".

The captain shrugged. "Cadets, sir. From the academy".

John frowned. "You're kidding".

"No, sir", she replied. "General Page ordered them in. We could bypass them, and cut their casualties".

"No damn way", John said thickly. "That's what the old bastard is hoping for. He figures some soft hearted i***t like you will waste half a day going around the little shits. Well, we'll show the old goat a thing or two! We'll cut his play pretend battalion into mincemeat! Call my driver, I'm going forward".

The captain did as she was told, waited for John to clear the TOC, and slipped into the lavatory. She turned both faucets on. The water made a lot of noise. It was then and only then that she allowed herself to cry. The sobs lasted for five minutes, great racking things that caused her chest to heave.

Finally, when there was nothing left to give, Captain Larisa Wales washed her face, straightened the green beret, and returned to duty. Why? Because she had promised that she would.

* * *

Kenny had been living in his grandmother's garage for more than three years. Ever since he had dropped out of school m there was a makeshift sleeping loft up in the rafters. It was just large enough for a mattress, reading lamp, and holo tank. But the main action was down on the oil-stained concrete floor. That's where the teenager kept all the electronic equipment that he had built, bought, and stolen over the last three years.