Keith Laumer - Bolos Old Guard

Bolos: Old Guard

Table of Contents

Incursion

Rook's Gambit

THE SKY IS FALLING

Brothers

Bolos: Old Guard

Created by Keith Laumer

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any

resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

A Baen Books Original

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, NY 10471

www.baen.com

ISBN: 0-671-31957-4

Cover art by Dru Blair

First printing, February 2001

Distributed by Simon & Schuster

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH

Printed in the United States of America

In memory of J. Andrew Keith,

1958-1999

Author, historian, wargamer,

brother, friend.

NO BATTLE PLAN SURVIVES

CONTACT WITH A BOLO . . .

Ad-akradai Khorris was pleased with his position. His concentrated dischargers had shrugged off the

Humans' heaviest bombardment. His nuclear cannons were in position, to be moved up for firing when

the human forces had moved into his trap.

But he would wait before deploying his armored vehicles. His infantry and nuclear cannons would be

enough to finish off the Human armor that advanced on him. Only then would his armored vehicles sweep

back over the bridge to drive into their rear and eliminate their precious artillery.

He was worried, however, that more reinforcements were arriving for the Humans. One of his few

remaining surveillance probes had been launched at the first hint of daylight in the east. An image taken

just before it died showed that the Human forces had moved all of their equipment off the eastbound

roadway, as if making room for another unit to pass through. He continued to weigh the possibility of

launching his last probe to hopefully catch a glimpse of what was arriving.

His quiet observations were rudely interrupted by his hatch opening with a loud clank. The panicked

face of Inkezdai Kepliss looked in.

"Ad-akradai, massed artillery rises from the west—"

"Good! It begins!"

"But Ad-akradai," Kepliss pleaded, "the artillery rises from far behind the Human lines, and the launcher

approaches swiftly as it fires! It travels along the roadway at a high rate of speed, sending its shells high

into the atmosphere!"

Something new, Khorris thought. The approaching weapons platform had to be exceedingly large to

have the stability to wield a sustained barrage accurately while moving.

Should he launch his last probe to view its approach? He decided against it. Nothing could stand up

against his nuclear cannons. . . .

ALSO IN THIS SERIES:

The Compleat Boloby Keith Laumer

Created by Keith Laumer:

The Honor of the Regiment

The Unconquerable

The Triumphantby David Weber & Linda Evans

Last Stand

Bolo Brigadeby William H. Keith, Jr.

Bolo Risingby William H. Keith, Jr.

Incursion

Mark Thies

It started as just a flicker of X-rays, high above the orbital plane of the bright orange star Epsilon Sindri.

The region of space was devoid of matter, or any potential for producing such a phenomenon, but

nonetheless it was there. As the flicker grew to erratic bursts, these X-rays were quickly logged by

several detectors within the system of five planets below.

The first detector to take note of these bursts was a security array high above the second planet of the

star system. Few disturbances ever escaped the notice of this awkward mass of antennae, reflectors, and

arrays that tumbled lazily in its wide orbit. The bright X-ray flashes were trapped and focused by a

myriad of mirrors and lenses, and then sorted by a series of gold refraction gratings. The spectrometers

compiled and analyzed the flood of data, recognizing the bursts for what they were. Unconcerned, the

security array's attention drifted elsewhere.

The second detector to take note of the bursts was a navigation beacon also in orbit around the second

planet. Unlike its much larger brother in high orbit above him, this oblong satellite sheathed in bright gold

foil carefully recorded the exact position and energy signatures of the bursts. The starports on the planet

surface were notified of the phenomena, but no concern was immediately made evident. This was a

weekly occurrence above the planet Delas, in precisely the location that it was expected. Only high

above the ecliptic in the solar system full of debris could a 500,000 ton merchantman exit trans-light

speeds without risking a fatal collision.

Only one other detector in the star system noticed the turbulent arrival of the interstellar freighter

Aragonne Isabelle. Shrouded in the cold shadow of the icy moon of Epsilon Sindri Three, another

satellite realigned itself, focusing its three large collectors upon the source of the X-ray bursts. A fission

reactor at its core came to brilliant life just as the gigantic transport finally exited the rift in a final explosion

of radiant energies. Then the X-rays ceased.

The shrouded satellite, however, was still building up the power that it needed. It had been ordered to

track these ships and monitor their arrivals and departures. But transmitting its reports back home needed

far more energy than its uranium pile could provide. As the fusion core finally ignited, another rift formed

for just a moment, sending out a pulse through subspace. The pulse was fast enough to travel light-years

in a matter of weeks, and strong enough even to reach the fringes of the bright nebula that painted the

Delassian night sky with its blue and orange hues. The acknowledgement to the pulse usually took more

than a month to return.

It was also strong enough to catch the attention of Delas' security array. Once again, a report was

logged and submitted. And on the planet, a corporal was startled by a beep, but then dismissed this

second burst as a subspace echo that seemed to bounce around whenever any transport arrived or

departed. His commander had been intending to ask some local astrophysicist about this phenomenon,

but had yet to find the time.

Back in orbit around Epsilon Sindri Three, an acknowledgement was logged by the satellite only two

hours later. * * *

The passenger door to the cargo shuttle sprang open with an audible hiss of a pressurized seal. A sunrise

of dull red shined into the small passenger compartment as the occupants stood up and gathered their

belongings. Delassian air slowly rolled down the aisle as it exchanged with the cool processed air of the

shuttle. First time arrivals were easily identified by their stunned gasps as the planet smothered them with

its hot and stifling jungle atmosphere.

As the wave advanced down the aisle, it soon overcame a rather large woman in a white dress with

bright orange flowers embroidered into its light fabric. An especially frightful string of expletives was

loudly uttered as a result, causing many heads to turn towards her. Standing behind the woman, a man

dressed in a uniform of Concordiat Army Desert Gray noticed a young girl staring at the woman in awed

silence from across the aisle. The girl's mother remained unaware of the situation as she seemed to be

frantically searching her luggage for something, so he decided to speak up.

"Madame, please, Starveil is on the edge of a rain forest. Certainly you were aware of where you were

arriving."

Suitcase now in hand, the large woman turned on the man in surprising fury. After taking a moment to

brush a swirl of black hair out of her eyes, she leaned forward as if to intimidate the older gentleman who

spoke out, perhaps threatening to fall over onto him.

"That doesn't mean that I have to like it, does it?" she shouted.

The woman's imposing frame and fiery gaze contrasted sharply with the small size and cold dispassion of

the Concordiat officer whom she faced. What she couldn't discern with her cursory assessment,

however, was just how well muscled the man's small frame was. Underneath his prematurely gray hair,

his Asian brown eyes stared back at her without flinching.

"No," said the man calmly, "but perhaps you could refrain from teaching our children to curse it so

vividly."

A nod to the left drew the woman's attention to the girl, who smiled and huddled close to her mother. In

a fraction of a second, the woman's fury turned to charming amusement.

"That was very bad of me," she told the little girl. Then she turned back to the man, and her smile was

instantly gone. "But I am completely justified. I had little choice in coming here."

A glance down the passenger compartment showed the officer that it wouldn't be clearing any time soon.

More than half of the sixty-four passengers were cargo handlers from theAragonne Isabelle , and few

were gracious enough to take the seats in the rear. Travelers such as he would have to wait as they

disembarked first.

"That is unfair, then," the man commented, being courteous.

"My name is Dahlia." The woman introduced herself, extending her free hand. "Dahlia Burke."

"Toman Ishida," the man returned, clasping her hand for just a moment.

"Colonel?" Dahlia asked with a questioning glance at his collar.

"Yes."

Dahlia smiled proudly, then she turned to grab a small shoulder bag that had been resting on the seat

next to her.

"My son is a lieutenant in the Concordiat Army," Dahlia explained. "He's with the 351st Planetary Siege

Division, or something like that. Ever hear of it?"

"Sorry, no. It's been a while since I've been on the Melconian front."

"Oh, I always hope that he's not there," she said despondently, "but I guess it would be unlikely that he'd

be anywhere else."

Ishida didn't answer. She might have been hoping for some reassurance from him about her son, but

without doubt she was correct. All siege divisions were now assigned to the Melconian front. Only

scattered second and third echelon armored and mechanized formations were assigned to other duties.

The uncomfortable silence was finally broken when the compartment finally began clearing, and the line

of passengers started moving.

"At least I'll only have to be here for a year. I work for Vetrex Electronics, and they need me to do

some sales work here."

"Let me carry that for you," Toman offered as Dahlia's large suitcase banged against the seats as she

walked.

"Oh, thank you. I can't believe that they make us carry our own luggage."

Toman took the case, slinging his own duffel bag over his shoulder.

"TheAragonne Isabelle is not a passenger liner. It is a supply transport. Merchant captains always feel

that they are doing us a favor by allowing us to come with them on their rounds, no matter how much we

pay them. Making our trip comfortable is well beyond their reason."

"You are a father, aren't you?" Dahlia asked over her shoulder.

Colonel Ishida felt troubled that the woman had discerned this about him. Had he been condescending

or patronizing, he wondered? He had thought that he was just explaining things well. Perhaps, though, she

had just read it in his face.

At sixty-eight years, Colonel Toman Ishida looked much older than he was. His hair, although mostly

undiminished and somewhat long, had turned prematurely white and gray many years before. His facial

skin was rough and unnaturally wrinkled from the aftermath of two Melconian plasma shell burns, the

second happening only a week after he got out of the hospital from the first. He had hoped that his

dominant Asian heritage would protect him from the ravages of age, but it couldn't help him against a

massed artillery barrage.

Toman had always tried to convince his compatriots that these effects made him look wise and

respected. They always responded that he just looked haggard.

"I have two children, Kaethan and Serina," Toman admitted. "Is it that obvious?"

"In some things. Your concern for that little girl was certainly an indication, but it was more your manners

that was the giveaway."

"My manners," Toman repeated, wanting to understand. "My aversion to foul language, you mean?"

"No. No. It was the manner in which you scolded me in front of the little girl. Your tone of voice and

method. I do, however, believe that the use of foul language, as you call it, is healthy and can make your

rhetoric much more effective." Dahlia punctuated her sentence by poking the air with her finger.

"My old commander would certainly agree with you."

"Meaning that you don't?"

Colonel Ishida hesitated before continuing this conversation. The last thing that he wanted to do right

now was to enter into a debate about the usefulness of swear words.

"It's been a long time . . . since I thought a problem could be improved by cursing at it. I now wonder if

ever there was."

Ishida was pleasantly surprised as Dahlia didn't bother replying to his disagreement, seeming more intent

on navigating her wide girth down the aisle. Toman followed, carrying her heavy suitcase as carefully as

possible. Even at his age, Ishida was still almost as strong as he ever was. Toman maintained a strict

workout schedule to maintain his physique. Fifty push-ups and stomach crunches every night before he

went to bed, along with a variety of other simple exercises. His only failing had been giving up his long

distance running, for which he had many excuses in the injuries that his body had endured over the years.

As the colonel exited the door and walked onto the downward ramp, he took a moment to step aside

and appreciate the tangerine sunrise that was climbing above the line of massive hangars to the east. The

starport's huge expanse of steel and polymer reinforced concrete was wet with a recent rain shower,

reflecting the sky in many puddles. Dark clouds to the south and west looked threatening.

"Just my luck it would be raining today," Dahlia lamented as she pondered down the steps.

"This time of year it rains every day down here," Ishida told her.

Whatever weather that was threatening from the north could not be seen, however, since the awesome

mass of the shuttle towered over them like an old-time zeppelin, squat and flat on its bottom and rear. It

stretched almost three hundred meters from fore to aft, and rose over fifty meters above the pavement.

The four fusion jets positioned at its corners wouldn't be able to budge the giant transport if it weren't for

the powerful counter-grav reactors that reduced their load. Their passenger compartment was only a

small attachment on its underside, near its front. It looked as if it was only added as an afterthought,

conveniently placed next to one of the shuttle's huge landing shocks, whose side their ramp was built into.

A brightly colored bus was waiting at the base of the ramp. Painted on its side, in large letters, were the

words WELCOME TO STARVEIL. Large men were taking people's luggage and helping the arrivals

onboard.

"You've been to Delas before?" Dahlia guessed.

"My son and daughter live here."

"Your wife?"

"Widow."

"Oh, I'm sorry. How very sad. It doesn't seem right that a soldier would lose his wife and not the other

way around."

Toman didn't quite know how to respond to that statement, so instead he remained quiet. He had the

strange impression that he should apologize for some reason, but he couldn't figure out why.

As they reached the pavement, he looked down towards the rear end of the cargo shuttle where its

massive cargo ramp was still descending slowly, preparing to offload. The 50,000 ton shuttle would be

transferring cargo between Delas' three starports and her mothership well into the next day before the

Argonne Isabelle departed back to Angelrath. Ten or eleven days later another freighter would be

arriving. Delas was a quickly growing colony, and its needs were many.

"Are you visiting your children?" Dahlia asked him.

"That, and other things."

Dahlia's luggage was taken from him then and stashed into the bus's undercarriage.

"I'm sorry I have to leave you now, Dahlia." Toman bowed to her slightly. "It's been a pleasure."

"You're not coming on the bus?"

"No. I have traveling companions to attend to. A car will be coming for me later."

The cargo ramp finally hit the pavement with a resounding thunk, despite the slow speed it was

descending.

"Traveling companions?"

"They were too big to fit in the passenger compartment."

The sudden thunderous clanging of metal on metal made all heads turn as a monstrous form emerged

from the rear of the cargo shuttle. The dark shape rose thirty meters from the base of its enormous

treads, to the top of its massive main turret, barely fitting inside the cargo hold. Plates of dull black armor

gave it an ominous air that matched the thunderclouds that flashed lightning kilometers away behind it. Its

main cannon extended out well past the forward glacis of the juggernaut, always remaining perfectly level

with the ground as the machine descended the ramp. The landing shocks on the cargo shuttle groaned

and shrieked, and the ground beneath them shook violently as the war machine finally rolled out onto the

pavement. Even after it had cleared the shuttle and stopped, a noticeable vibration remained, as if the

tarmac was straining with all its might to support the monster that had just set foot upon it.

Bristling with secondary turrets and weapon ports, the war machine looked to be a battleship on tracks,

though no one could mistake it for being seaworthy. It was a dreadnought whose design had been

condensed to its most lethal form. Losing its displacement and elegance, it gained terrible focus in all

things that its enemies feared most: firepower, maneuverability, and speed. No christened name could be

seen inscribed on its bow, but upon the rear portion of its side hull, the designation "DBC-0039DN" was

emblazoned in tall, silver letters.

"A Bolo," Dahlia said in awe. "You are with the Dinochrome Brigade?"

"Very good. Your son would be proud of you."

Dahlia actually blushed at that.

"You have another one?" Dahlia then asked Toman, smiling.

"We require two trips."

"Ah," she said. Then she leaned forward as if to whisper something. Toman complied by leaning forward

also. "Should I be worried about anything?"

"Not any more." Toman said with a smile, backing away again.

Dahlia laughed lightly, though she still looked concerned. A moment later she extended her hand.

"Thank you for your help, Toman. I'll try to watch my language while I'm here."

Toman took her hand and held it tightly for a moment, then released it.

"Maybe you'll find some other way of being effective."

"We'll see. Good-bye, Toman."

"Good-bye, Dahlia."

The colonel stood waiting for a couple minutes still, until he confirmed that Dahlia had found a seat and

was settled in. With a short wave he then turned away and headed for the Bolo that waited patiently for

him, next to the ramp. A pack of tractors that had been waiting for the Bolo to clear the ramp now were

invading the cargo hold to ferry its remaining contents to several flatbed trucks nearby.

After he had escaped earshot from the passengers, Ishida removed his fieldcomm from his belt and

activated it. It was already set at Brigade battle channels.

"How are you doing, Chains?" He called.

"Fully operational, Commander," replied a baritone voice from his earphone.

"How 'bout you, Quarter?"

"Waiting the return of the shuttle, Commander," replied a charming voice with a distinct British accent.

"That might be a couple hours, Quarter. Hold tight. Until then, though, I want both of you to probe every

wavelength and log every emitter that you can around this planet. Find out what their defenses are like,

and where they've broken down."

"This may cause alarms to be triggered," said Chains.

"Good," replied Toman cheerfully. "I hope that it does. As always, route all complaints to me."

"Yes, Commander. Shall we remain at Low Alert Status?"

"For now. No point in distracting you if their security array is operating correctly. Oh, by the way, keep

tied into its frequency. I want you two watching things."

"We will, Commander," Chains replied. "The Starveil tower is requesting that I proceed to their military

hangar area. Do you wish to enter first?"

"Yeah, open up. I need to log a report and make some calls."

"Opening hatch. Will Kaethan be visiting us, again? I would look forward to seeing how your son has

grown."

Memories of Kaethan's visit to the 39th Lancers temporary headquarters on Point Hermes flooded him

with conflicting emotions. It had been twelve years ago, when Kaethan was fourteen, just after his mother

had died. His sister Serina had just become eighteen and she wasn't sure that she could take care of him.

It was a difficult time, and Toman decided not to reflect on it at all.

"Maybe. I'll tell him that you'd like that."

"It's been a long time."

"Yes," Toman sighed. "It has." * * *

At midday, it was dark and raining fiercely, and Captain Kaethan Ishida had his sunglasses firmly stashed

in his belt pouch. On a sunny day, the chalk white dunes of the Fort Hilliard Firing Range almost glowed

with heat and blinding light. The sands blew over the landscape from the forty kilometers of the Alabaster

Coast that stretched along the ocean to the west. Soldiers of the Alabaster Guard wore dark sunglasses

as unofficial trademarks of their unit, though the glasses were absolutely necessary equipment for when

the skies were clear. This would hardly be a problem today, but at least on a clear day you could actually

see the firing range.

"Almost ready, Kaethan."

Kaethan didn't respond to the warning, but instead kept looking out into the rain from their concrete

reinforced bunker. Judging from past experience, Walter Rice would be "almost ready," typing madly on

his computer, for another couple minutes. And their past experience stretched as far back as elementary

school. There was no hurry.

A brief surge of rainfall caused a light spray to splatter through the slit window that stretched the entire

forward length of their bunker. The captain turned his face away, shielding his green eyes. His short,

jet-black hair had dried quickly after his sprint from his vehicle to the bunker, but would remain damp as

long as he stayed where he was. The cool spray was refreshing to Kaethan, who had begun to grow

weary of the heat wave that the Telville area had been experiencing lately.

The bunker that the two men were in was small and brightly lit. Kaethan was dressed in a dark

metal-blue uniform of very light fabric, with black boots and belt. Platinum circlets, pinned to his shoulder

flares, identified his rank. The lights overhead highlighted his sharp Mediterranean facial features and

complexion, though his brooding Asian eyes always broke the categorization. Walter was dressed in gray

slacks and a designer white shirt that he had just purchased that day. His long, wavy brown hair reached

his shoulders, though it was neatly combed and kept. The short beard that he sported caused him to

scratch his chin and neck constantly. Although of ordinary features, this no way detracted from his rugged

good looks. Bare concrete walls enclosed them, gray and smooth except for numerous cracks and

cement patches that marred the surface. A fine white dust covered everything, though it was more from

Keith Laumer - Bolos Old Guard

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