Lightning War
By Duncan Long


C ommander Derek sat in the blackened room, carefully studying the subspace surveillance photos being relayed to him. "Home in on 350/150," he ordered the computer. "Engage MMO search." 

And there it was on the screen that floated in front of him. In all its bloody glory. He took his time, letting each of the pictures etch itself into his mind. The satellite probe had just circled Phonus II once, but already he knew he had the critical data that would legalize his actions. "Store and relay back to Earth. Confirm receipt." They'll need to have those photos to justify what I'm about to do. 

"Photos received," the computer whispered in his mind. 

"Prepare the troops. We're headed in." 

Calling those he commanded "troops" was using the term loosely. They were machines designed for killing as they circled a planet. There were only five humans aboard the entire fleet he commanded, and he was the only combatant. 

"You need a human on board so they'll have someone to blame if the machines screw up," was what his instructor had jokingly said at the academy. But the teacher hadn't smiled and the students hadn't laughed. Too much truth in the statement. 

There wouldn't be any screw-ups this time. With the photos of the half-eaten colonists still haunting the depths of his mind, he knew anyone seeing what he'd sent back would be willing to justify any actions he took. Even lightning war. 

And that was just what he'd give the 'sects on the planet his fleet was headed for. 

"Three minutes until de-drive," the computer warned. 

"Command order: We'll go in with blaze," he grimly told his computer which relayed his message to the fifty automated hyperships around him. "Lightning War. Full scorch." 

"Confirm order please: Command is lightning, full scorch." 

"Lightning, full scorch confirmed." 


***
There was a rattle through the deck below him as the ship automatically maneuvered for the transfer to sub-light speed. Then the high pitched hum of the weapons bays coming online. 
"Full monitor," Derek ordered. Instantly the dark room he sat in was surrounded by light, as if he floated in space encircled by the sleek ships around him. There was a rainbow of light and then they were through the hyper-space barrier. Below his feet was the blue and green globe, lush with life. "Fire at will." 

For six seconds the ships fired, guns flashing until the hulls glowed a dull red, the power beams slashing like lightning through the atmosphere of the planet. The Phonusians most likely never had time to react since their communications and weapons systems were knocked out during the first milliseconds of the battle, the computerized systems on the ships circling them working from the satellite photos that had been relayed back minutes before. 

After that, the ships methodically hunted down and killed each of the insect-like creatures on the surface below. 

Derek knew what was happening but all that registered with his slow nervous system was one massive flash of light; the human mind was unable to following the numbing speed of the attack on the planet below. It seemed that they had only just come out of hyperspace. Yet the battle was over, the enemies below, slaughtered. 

"Mission completed," his computer whispered. 

Derek closed his eyes. "Total enemy kills?" 

"One million, forty-three thousand, two hundred fifty-six." 

Derek remained silent a moment. "Time for the most important part," he said. "Take the actors out of the frige." 


*****
D erek waded ashore, wondering how the machines that were capable of the pinpoint accuracy needed to wipe out over a million sentient creatures in just six seconds could manage to miss the beach, putting them into nearly three feet of warm ocean water. 

"This is great," the cameraman beside him yelled over the noise of the surf. "We couldn't have planned it better. The actors can wade ashore just like in the old newsreels -- they'll love this back home. Let me set up the camera on the beach and I'll be ready for the 'troops'." 

"No big hurry," Derek said, staring at the charred exoskeleton that floated in the waves thirty meters from him. For a moment he felt pity, then remembered the hostages that had been half eaten, their arms and legs missing, their faces twisted into gruesome death masks. "Believe in it," he told himself, closing his eyes. "It happened. They did it. You were justified in ordering the attack." 

But perhaps the Phonusians hadn't known what they were doing. Or perhaps they'd done it to send a message to future trespassers. It didn't make any difference to Derek. Anything or anyone that tortured prisoners deserved to die. 

Wait, had it really happened? He felt confused, old doubts resurfacing. He shook his head. It was about time for him to return to the programming for -- 

"I'm ready," the cameraman called, breaking into Derek's thoughts. 

"Computer," Derek ordered. "Send out the landing party." 

The large cargo door at the side of the lander hissed opened and three men in battle gear splashed ashore, surrounded by battle bots and tracked vehicles. As they advanced, the fake guns they held discharged smoke and empty cartridges while the machines around them belched fire. Within minutes the men and mechanicals were ashore, racing past the camera. 

"That's it," the cameraman yelled. 

The machines and men came to a halt. The mechanicals returned to the cargo bay and stowed themselves, the actors huddled around the camera to check the replay of the scene. 

"Are we ready to go?" Derek asked. 

The cameraman studied the display on his equipment a moment and then spoke. "It's a wrap. All the stuff we need to create a computerized mass invasion of the beach." 

"Right," Derek said. He'd seen it all before. The computers took the images, created variations of the actors and machines that had been filmed, and then reassembled them into an entire army. 

When the people back home saw the scene, they'd watch thousands of troops jump into the surf from a hundred ships. Some would be cut down by enemy power beams; some would make it to shore and engage the enemy. The photos of the surveillance satellite would be added, creating in-orbit pictures of the enemy being destroyed by the landing party. 

Eventually, after virtual days of heavy fighting in the shadow war created by the computers, the insect-like foes would be defeated by the invading humans. Then, according to the script, the Phonusians would commit suicide on a massive scale, leaving the planet open to another wave of Earth settlers. 

When the protesters back on Earth raised any objections, the photos of the slaughtered colonists would be released. Those who managed to keep their last meal down would be talking about how the Phonusians deserved everything they got after that. 

"Let's load up," Derek told the cameraman and his actors that huddled around the screen, watching the replay of their landing. He turned and wadded back toward the lander. 

"Don't you want to look around?" one of the new actors asked. "This is the most beautiful piece of real estate I've ever seen." 

Derek said nothing. 

"Don't be silly," the cameraman said. "We've got three more planets to hit before evening." 

Derek wondered how many they'd kill by the end of the day. Again he felt the twinge of conscience and nearly stumbled in the surf. It was time to take action. "Computer," he said softly. 

"Yes, commander?" 

"Prepare the next set of fake photos of slaughtered colonists. And alert command comm that my programming seems to be failing. I'm having trouble believing we're justified in what we're doing." 

"I have already alerted them. I suspected you were having problems. Can you continue the mission." 

"No problem," he answered grimmly. To a good commander, what were a few million more deaths? 

Especially when they already had the photos ready to justify his actions.