Barbarians

I don't know what you had in mind

But here we stand on opposing sides

Let's go to war

Let's go to war

We arm ourselves with the wrongs we've done

Name them off one by one

Let's go to war

Let's go to war!

Nothing More - “Go to War”

When Man Makes Plans...God Laughs

Leandra had been thinking about that adage a great deal over the last couple of weeks. After the Triumvirate’s repugnant demand of Earth, she’d had every intention of resigning her post on the spot and never setting foot in that chamber again. The report she’d forwarded to the Governor-General about the meeting should have come with a warning to use asbestos gloves while reading, it was so heated...and yet here she was, returning to the scene of the crime.

Only this time, she wasn’t alone.

There are many reasons individuals gravitate to government service. Prestige, a desire to serve, power, all those were common rationales, but there was one perk that while rarely discussed was also a draw...and that was being “In the Know”. Having insider information that no one else possessed was an intoxicating brew, and by the time someone got to her level, there were very few secrets you weren’t privy to.

…or so she’d thought.

The encrypted com she’d received from the Governor the day after she’d sent in her report had left her in a state of shock. She’d expected orders to evacuate as many humans as possible from the Triumvirate worlds, getting them out of the line of fire, but instead she was read in on a Top Secret, Burn-Before-Reading Plan called Vegetius, and when her briefing was over she had an overwhelming urge to smack herself on the forehead. In retrospect, she should have guessed something like it existed.

War and violence were innate to Man’s nature. Ever since humans had first evolved, they had battled each other, and for almost as long struggled to put it behind them. By the time humans had stumbled into the Triumvirate Earth was all but united and had made great strides in eradicating many of the root causes that had long plagued mankind.

But Man had been born a predator, and there was no way to completely eliminate the murderous animal inside him. When the Triumvirate had demanded Man lay down his arms and study war no more, they’d searched for ways to channel his aggression. Sports and athletic competition, always popular pastimes, helped some, but for those that found them to be a little too tame for their taste, they’d created the Guilds. It was an ideal solution, a chance to play at war without committing violence and had proved wildly popular. Warheads...the popular nickname given to the Guild’s most fervent fans...logged onto the battle boards to watch the action, discussing strategy and tactics as others would compare RBI’s, rooting for their favorite champions in a manner any Roman follower of the Gladiatorial Games would have recognized instantly.

For those that preferred a more hands-on approach, there were the Historical Reenactments. Borrowing from the tradition of the Renaissance Faire and organizations like the SCA, they expanded the pre-existing Reenactment groups into a fully immersive experience of life in those darker times. Schools would bring their students...to show them how much better things were now...and in the course of a year, a young pupil might witness battles such as Thermopylae, or Gettysburg, or Verdun, all in the name of education. It was a brilliant concept, taking the worst of man’s nature and turning it into a positive.

It was also a lie.

Almost a century ago, when the Triumvirate first made it clear Man must change his ways if he ever wanted to join their ranks, there were those who recognized the day might come when they would need trained soldiers once again. They created the Guilds and Reenactments to nurture and train their citizens as an insurance policy, should the worst ever happen. They inducted the participants into the “United Earth Armed Forces”, complete with swearing-in ceremonies and convoluted contracts. It was all very tongue-in-cheek, often the source of great ridicule by those who looked down their long noses at the Warheads...only buried in those same contracts was the assertion that the UEAF was no joke at all.

Proving yet again that no one reads the fine print.

The news of their real purpose swept across Earth and its colonies like a tsunami when Vegetius was activated. Not all Warheads were chosen, as they deemed some unsuited for psychological reasons, or because of physical impairments, while others were already in positions necessary for the war effort. So much to Leandra’s surprise...Earth, in fact, had an Army. Of a sort.

What it didn’t have were weapons.

Research and Development had continued unabated on a secure outpost buried deep within the Kuiper Belt. That much they could justify; on the off chance the Triumvirate were to ever get wind of what they were doing. But while they could continue to draft designs for new weaponry, building and stockpiling them was out of the question.

Which put the fledgling UEAF in the same boat the US Army had been in, circa 1937, when America had fewer men in uniform than Portugal and trained with 2x4’s instead of actual rifles. While they might have traded the Model T Ford bearing a “Tank” placard for top of the line VR equipment, the reality was much the same. An unblooded...and civilian...cadre of soldiers, who had nothing to fight with. But it was a start.

As she strode towards the waiting Ministers, a pair of rather unique individuals flanked her on either side. While Leandra was no Warhead herself, she was at least familiar with some of the more preeminent Guild luminaries...but even she found herself mildly star-struck when they’d arrived and placed themselves at her disposal.

To her left was a woman in her late 30’s, with thick black hair and a sandalwood complexion. Hélène Fujimoto, AKA “Helen of Troy”, the woman who’d sunk a thousand ships. Undisputed Champion in the Naval Warfare categories, who specialized in Space Combat. She now wore a gleaming white Admiral’s uniform, complete with gold cuff stripes, shoulder boards, and beret, her glossy black boots clicking on the polished marble floor. She was still adjusting to the fact that the “games” she’d been playing for years were now for real, but she’d adapted far faster than Leandra would, had their positions been reversed.

On her right was a man who needed no introduction, at least among humans. His mahogany skin and tightly kinked hair shot with gray had earned him his own Nom de Guerre...Marshal Kwasi Antuma, AKA “The Black Death”. Seven times Grandmaster in the Combined Arms Guild Finals, whose string of victories had set records unlikely to be broken in their lifetime. It was well known for opponents to quickly concede, rather than face him in battle. He wore a dark khaki tunic with green trousers, his jacket decorated with epaulets and brocade, with a small baton tucked under his arm.

(The UEAF uniforms had been chosen during a popular contest, several decades earlier. That they just avoided looking like something from a Victorian comic opera was more luck than design, in Leandra’s opinion.)

The trio came to a halt in front of the waiting Ministers, who looked even worse than they had during her previous visit. The faceless enemy had sacked another world in the interim, this one a Saurotaur planet, and a sense of desperation could be felt everywhere one looked. The once proud and haughty Triumvirate now bore the stink of desperation...and the Governor-General had decided that now was the perfect time for Earth to make its play.

“Ministers, I come before you today, charged by Governor-General Granville to deliver to you an offer,” she said without preamble. “Earth will fight...but on our terms.”

Qomzoixaa and Lassoarth seemed to be at a loss for words. They looked at each other, struggling to come up with a response, while Σ 121 Sub Δ answered for them both.

“What are Earth’s terms?” it asked...and once again, for a machine she swore she could detect a tinge of hope in its voice.

“Quite simply this, Minister. First...Earth will be in complete control of the war effort. You will provide anything we require to that end, without question.” Leandra gazed at the Ministers, but for the moment they chose not to respond. They knew more was coming.

“Second...that we won't fight this war alone. If you want the Triumvirate to survive, then your people will also fight...right alongside us.”

That got a response. “Impossible!” Lassoarth screeched, shying away from the humans. “We are pacifists! We cannot fight!”

Qomzoixaa’s vestigial wings fluttered so hard she almost thought he’d leap into the air…an absurd notion, as no Ophiptera had managed actual flight in several million years. “Our species are incapable of committing bloodshed!” he wailed. “How can you ask this of us?”

A thin smile appeared on her lips. “I told you once before, we won’t be your mercenaries. We can lead, but if you want the Triumvirate to survive then you will have to fight for it. Earth will not do this alone.”

“And if we should refuse your terms?” Σ 121 Sub Δ asked.

Leandra drew a deep breath. “In that case...Governor-General Granville has instructed me to inform you that humanity will withdraw to its borders. We will reject all calls for aid, turn back all refugees...and leave you to your fate.” She turned to the man on her right. “Marshal Antuma, based on current projections, what do you believe will be the outcome of that choice?”

The dark-skinned man cleared his throat. “Ministers...I regret to inform you that should you not agree to our terms, we project the Triumvirate will fall in less than a year.” The silence that filled the Center following that pronouncement was deafening. “We also project that casualties will be in the trillions.”

Lassoarth rose to her feet, descending from the raised dais on wobbly legs, making her way to the human contingent. “You would let this happen?” she asked in a whisper, her golden eyes huge with terror. “You would condemn us to death?”

Admiral Fujimoto regarded her with sympathy but stood her ground. “Minister...if you won’t fight for your own survival, why should we?”

Qomzoixaa made his way down to join his fellow Minister, reaching out for her hand. The two aliens stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity...before bowing their heads in surrender.

“We accept your terms,” Σ 121 Sub Δ said at last.

Leandra nodded. Despite the anger she’d felt towards them before, she took no pleasure in this. “There is one, final, stipulation, Ministers. Full and equal membership in the Triumvirate…effective immediately.”

It was almost an afterthought, the very thing mankind had striven for after all these years. “…agreed,” Qomzoixaa whispered. “Ambassador...until your government makes an appointment, will you accept the position?” He sounded deflated, defeated, broken. It brought her no joy to see him like this…but if Earth were to survive, they had no choice.

“I will, Minister,” she murmured. “For the interim, at least.”

“I suppose we should rename the Triumvirate the Tetrarchy,” Σ 121 Sub Δ pointed out.

“An issue for another time, Minister,” Leandra told him. “At the moment, we have a war to fight.”

Lassoarth raised her head. “Agreed,” she said in resignation. “What do you ask of us first?”

Leandra turned once more to Marshal Antuma. “After much discussion and debate, we have come up with a plan. I’m afraid it will take time to build up the Armed Forces we require, so the first phase will be a Naval approach, while we train and arm.” He nodded at Admiral Fujimoto to pick up the thread.

“We will require as many ships as you can find,” she informed them. “We understand they will be nothing but freighters and passenger vessels, but they will have to do for now. We don’t have time to construct proper warships, but we can much more quickly modify what we already have, and buy us enough time to prepare our forces.”

“It will be so ordered,” Qomzoixaa responded. “And then?”

“And then,” Marshal Antuma answered, “you will need to select citizens to report for training. We recognize that mixed units are simply unfeasible, for several reasons, so we have simplified things on that end. The Ophiptera will report to Admiral Fujimoto,” nodding in her direction, “for fighter training. We can build fighters much more quickly than cruisers or battleships, and given your species evolution we believe it would well suit their abilities, once they’ve been trained.”

He turned to face Lassoarth. “We will train the Saurotaurs as Infantry, and as for the Ronin...”

A wry smile appeared on his face. “...we have something special in mind.”