Chapter 24: "Four Fifths of Five Eights of Fuck All, SIR!"

Samantha gathered herself as she prepared to address the parade. The 250 cadets were lined up in proper parade formation, their officers – at twelve and thirteen, the oldest of the children – keeping order as if the whole lot were veteran Marines with a decade's experience. The raw recruits of the armoured platoon were milling around like the armed civilians they basically still were. And the Navy never did go in for much in the way of foot and rifle drill. The sailors were lined up in disciplined rows, but looked positively slack and idle compared to the rigid ranks of the Cadet Corps.

Overwhelmingly, the bodies on the parade square were younger than she was – and Samantha was painfully aware how young she herself was. She recalled a history sleep course she'd taken, about the Crusades. Most of the tales of the Children's Crusades were apocryphal, although based on real events. Now, she'd have a very real Children's Crusade. She hoped the Chosen Frozen Children would have better luck than their largely fictional counterparts of Germany and France back in 1212 CE.

The AI amplified her voice as she addressed the planning parade. "Hollister!" she shouted at the 11-year-old boy in charge of the cadets attached to the artillery battery. "How many know how to lay a gun?"

"Seven, Sir!" announced the lad, as six of his charges came to attention. They'd not only taken the sleep training, they'd backed it up with live firing on the artillery range.

"And how many Forward Artillery Directors have you got?"

"Four, Sir!" Unfortunately, those were also members of the seven who knew what was what with the cannon.

"Navy, how many gunners?"

The corporal in charge of the platoon of sailors came to some sort of attention-like manoeuvre that made even the Civil Service officer wince. "Six, Sir!"

Dammit. "How many can lay a gun?"

"A planet-side cannon, Sir? Nobody here."

Not good news. Still, they'd know how to load the damned thing, which meant their muscle could be used.

"Hollister, send your four Forward Artillery Directors to the Marines. Marines, protect their asses, they're going to be protecting yours." At Samantha's order, four cadets double-timed to the Marine platoon.

Samantha brought up a hologram of the battle zone, enlarging it so it hovered over everyone's heads. Two lights glowed green – the camp and the base. The Martellos glowed red. The projected landing zone flashed white. "Here's their likely route: down this valley to this point, where it bisects, heading southwest to Shackleton and northwest to Scott. We're going to block the road here," she pointed with her pace stick, "and place two platoons as reserve here and here." She indicated two spots in the valleys, between the point where they joined the main valley and the two settlements. "First, make things tough on the Swarm by triggering avalanches to block the valleys. This will also make it safer for you to hold. Place half your troops up on the valley walls and the other half across the floor. Understood?"

They did.

"We'll place the Marines and a third of the Cadets here at the main line, and split the remaining Cadets between these two reserve points." She sighed. "I wish we had armour, but..."

"Sir, we do, Sir!" The 12-year-old boy fronting a platoon of Cadets could hardly contain his excitement. "At Martello 2314." Obediently one of the red lights started flashing. It was near the battlefield, near enough to make a difference. "There are six Rommels there, and we have six who took the driver's course."

Everyone grew excited at this – they now had a semblance of a defence. Samantha was of a practical mind, however, and had seen too much bad news this day. "Do we have any gunners for the Rommels?"

Not among the Cadets. No surprise: the crystals the main gun of the Rommel used were hefty beasts. Again, she turned to the Navy gunners. "Corporal, I need six volunteers to load the guns on the Rommels."

He immediately pivoted on his heel. He pointed to six of the largest sailors and advised them they'd just volunteered. They double-timed over to the Cadet tank platoon. The remaining gunners headed to the artillery battery.

"You remaining sailors, what do you know about the RLI-1?"

The Corporal didn't even need to poll his men. "Four-fifths of five eights of fuck all, SIR!"

A brief smile flashed across Samantha's lips. She'd taken her history lessons; it was the standard way that Canadian soldiers, sailors and airmen of World War II had described how much they got paid. "Bonus points for mathematical precision. We need ammunition carriers and stretcher bearers. Congratulations, you're it."

At that point, the AI whispered in her ear that the concubines at Base Scott were getting a touch panicky. They needed a leader, and the lead naval concubines were out at Hesperus with their sponsors.

"OK, I can't lose a gun. I've stolen every man, woman, boy and girl I can get my mitts on. What now. Think." Her eyes came up to realize one of the red-coated infantry, wearing sergeant's stripes, was someone she'd dined with recently. He and his future concubine, assuming she didn't CAP out at over six point four.

"Sergeant Bachelor! I need your concubine!"

"Yes, Sir!" The eleven-year-old brought his wrist up and spoke to the AI. A second later, Diana Deschenes' voice sounded in Samantha's earpiece.