Spectre stood on a catwalk surrounding the enormous holotank he’d had installed in the palace at Shepparton. His minions, the most senior deposed Blends, gathered around to watch the enemy fall to Earth. As always, a triple contingent of Skulls, now enhanced with combat nano and provided with the most deadly weapons available, lined the walls and stood on balconies overlooking the situation room.
Spectre had never been one to make outward displays of frustration unless they were calculated to impress. He’d long ago decided that giving anyone insight into his thought processes was a mistake. Except for Ann Alkina, may she rest in peace, the better angels of his nature had nothing to do with it; the issue was presenting an appearance of invincibility and control.
That’s why he was grateful Absen had spoken to him and explained the plan, so his unruffled demeanor wasn’t entirely faked. In truth, he worried. Had he not known the admiral’s plan, he’d have wondered if he and Earth were doomed.
Now, they had a good chance...if he could keep his people from outright revolt.
“My Lord Spectre, I do not understand the orders you have just issued.” Cleopatra, whom he knew only obeyed him out of fear, always seemed to take the opportunity to question him.
Spectre didn’t mind, really; better to have the opposition in the open, and it kept him on his toes. “It’s part of a coordinated strategy with EarthFleet. You know I just spoke with Admiral Absen.”
“Why not tell us what you talked about?”
Spectre smiled and threw her a bone. “A perfectly reasonable suggestion. Here is his plan.” Making Absen the author might allow the blame to fall on the admiral, though it might diminish Spectre’s glory if it succeeded. He didn’t care much about glory right now; fear and force were the foundations of his power. Old Mao was right, he chuckled to himself. All power does proceed from the barrel of a gun...but you still have to have ammo, skill, and especially the will to use it.
Taking a cursor, Spectre spun the enormous globe depicted in the holotank so that Asia showed. Above it all, they could see a million ships spiraling down and spreading out, so many that they were grouped together by the computer in icons of up to one thousand. “Originally I had ordered each city to create a kill zone, a defense in depth, in order to destroy as many of the enemy on the way down. When the Scourges landed, the defenders would escape through extensive tunnels back to the fortified cities, activating millions of inexpensive mines. The goal was to make the enemy pay for every inch of ground regardless of casualties, to buy time for the parts of Earth not under attack to rush reinforcements and attack from the perimeter.”
“Yes. Like the Russians in World War Two,” Gilgamesh said, shifting his great bulk in his seat. “They fortified their cities and turned them into deathtraps for the Germans, gaining time to build up their armies. Eventually those armies came back and crushed the exhausted Wehrmacht.” The Blend was merely fat now rather than ridiculously obese, as Spectre had worked him as hard as any of them. Gilgamesh had proven himself a reliable right-hand man for anything to do with the Blends. “It seemed like a good strategy,” he continued diplomatically. “What has changed?”
“Only the emphasis and timing. My plan had always been to put the least competent fighters – the youngest, the weakest, the least well trained – on the front lines. If they died, they died.” The other Blends nodded, hardly less ruthless than Spectre. “This would leave the best troops to hold the cities. Every mouth to feed or weapon to service must be as effective as possible.”
“And?” Cleopatra challenged. “What changed?” she repeated.
“Admiral Absen pointed out that all the enemy are dropping into the atmosphere. They have ceded space in order to put all their air power against us. That will make our kill zones much less effective. They will bombard us with masses of plasma torpedoes and beams from long range. That’s a losing proposition for us. Better not to engage at all, but instead to simply allow them to land everywhere. Even in the cities, we will only defend locally, not even shooting at their landing craft.”
“But they’ll bombard the cities instead!” Cleopatra protested.
Ah, a better foil I could not have asked for, Spectre thought, feeding me such setup lines. “The more they bombard, the more rubble they produce. Modern cities become easier, not harder, to defend as they are wrecked.”
“But the countryside! We’ve all seen the briefings. The Scourgelings will eat everything. Even though we have harvested all the crops and hoarded all possible human food, they can consume any biomass. The Russian and Siberian forests alone will let them grow fat, and we will be left with wastelands.”
Spectre grinned, a thing that caused several present to blanch. “Yes. I’m counting on it.”