Unlike my meeting with Lieutenant Nasir, this time I went directly to where the army had barracked the ground forces. It was the remains of what could be generously called a garrison base, if one didn't mind the holes in the ceiling and the walls. But it looked like that in the time since they moved in, somebody had found hammer, nails, and wooden boards to try patching it up.
The fix definitely wasn't great, but well, at least somebody had initiative.
Major Rowles greeted me with a measured nod that I returned, no salute called for what was just supposed to be a causal inspection. Were we perhaps in my commandeered gaudy office, it would be more appropriate but I wanted to stretch my legs while checking on the troops. It was a mix of wanting to get a little exercise in while also appearing approachable for the soldiery, who might be more sympathetic to our ongoing woes if they knew I was willing to hear out their complaints.
It was actually a rather significant issue to overcome, as my technical rank was with the navy, not the army. So I really wanted to dispel that popular stereotype of the commander being untouchable in such cases. Especially with my noble background.
Thankfully, Rowles seemed to have been impressed with my little pep-talk and speech, and she was a well-liked superior officer among the troops. It probably had to do with how she definitely believed in leading from the front, with the mech of the lower ranks too despite surely having qualified for something more advanced by now.
Maybe it was just a matter of personal taste too, as it was hard to go wrong with the GMS Everest.
"Commander Moores. Welcome to the base."
"No name yet?" I quipped, prompting a dry laugh from her.
"If we stick around long enough to give it a name, maybe. But otherwise, everybody's still aching to move out of this shithole."
Blunt, and for good reason. I eyed how many of the buildings had groaning portable generators attached to them. "Have the engineers not repaired the destroyed power lines?"
"No, because there were none." She gave an irritated wave to the quarters. "And no plumbing either. This place is basically off the utility grid, probably so that cheapskate ass of a ruler before could save some manna on the monthly bill. About the only thing that works is the food processor."
"So the garrison were at least served three square meals a day, and that was enough to keep them in line." That, and probably the threat that the real house troops could probably come and crush them if they tried any funny ideas like a mutiny. Something that I oddly enough did have to worry about as well, though not from lower ranks. "How are the officers and crews?"
"Well, plainly speaking sir, they're unhappy." We began to walk while talking, strolling about the grounds. "Taking away officer rations wasn't great, but they understand we're in a bit of a mess so they'll put up with it.
"The vehicle operators and pilots are a little less chuffed, because they're already that low. Not much you can do to downgrade their rations further, unless you want them to actually starve. About the only thing keeping them still here is the promise that back-pay will be coming, sooner or later. Preferably, very soon."
"I'm working on a solution on that with Lieutenant Nasir. We might be able to gain capital and leverage in the near-future. Depending on how things go, the harsh rationing might even be lifted."
"That'll do wonders for the immediate morale, sir. Good to hear." She paused before glancing to the side. I followed to see Rowles looking at line of mechs, all Everests, resting there in the motor pool alongside some armored vehicles. "I'm worried though that even if they get paid what they're due, some of the pilots might fly the coop still so to speak. They saw their superiors from earlier take their leave, camping out at the spaceport until whatever next passing trader comes by to hitch a ride on.
"Of course we kept the machines still as it's military property." Her voice dropped into a low tone. "But if they decide to all leave, I'm just a single woman with one mech. I don't know if I could stop them."
"We just need to keep at least half happy, enough to make them reconsider and realize the risk that they could either leave peacefully, without their mech- or they could take the risk and win, only to still have to ditch a damaged steed," I quietly mentioned. "Remember. Stress to them that they could always pay to print a new mech elsewhere."
But we couldn't, on account of our immediate supply issues. So we had to hoard all of ours quite jealously, and hope nobody called our bluff. If they did, then the option of letting them walk away with their mech would set a rather unfortunate precedent that would spiral from what we could handle.
"Aye, I'll be sure to do that. It's not like they're trained on anything better either."
"A mixed blessing that we weren't assigned a Lancer then."
It was a bit weird to be saying that, given it was the name of the setting, but it was also how people just referred to those ace pilots. The ones who defined the entire reason why you picked up the book, to play as one of those legendary warriors that could help shape the galaxy for good or ill. Usually the former thankfully, as this had been a universe where being better was always an option. Mostly because enemies were usually so clear-cut and defined.
There was a part of me that did squeal and want to see if I could climb into one of those mechanized walkers, to experience the joy of being a walking war machine. But it was tempered by 'my' memories of having tried out once before, which unfortunately determined I didn't possess the necessary reflexes required of a pilot. Hence why 'I' had gone into naval service instead, which was definitely a new sort of experience. I hadn't been so familiar with Lancer: Battlegroupbefore all this.
I mean, come on. Elite mechs that could zip across the battlefield, or a lumbering behemoth? I don't think the spin-off was actually very popular or as well-known as the original. But well, I was eating those words now as being part of said spin-off as a result of my position.
I distracted myself by moving on from the mechs and to the armored vehicles. Tanks mostly, with some APCs thrown in the mix with autocannons. It was actually almost weird to see them, given how conventional vehicles and their ilk had oft been neglected in the small text between the giant stompy robots. Which made sense, given that they'd usually been what Lancers had been just shooting at to get them out of the way.
Now though, they were the bulk of my armored forces, outnumbering the number of mechs by a significant margin. They were easier to produce, required less maintenance, and didn't need specialized training to use compared to even the simplest Everest. On the battlefield as well, they fought well-enough against even opposing mechs, provided that there wasn't a cracked-out Lancer running around.
Rowles followed my gaze, then spoke in a more natural, neutral tone. "Our tank crews are thankfully sticking together well. Hard not to when you share a single vehicle with the others, and it's usually ride or die. So if half the crew are on the fence but the other half want to take the chance and stay, they'll all do so."
"Good. They've plenty of hands-on maintenance experience as well, correct?"
"Yes, given how each of them has to be ready to deal with malfunctions or battle damage on the battlefields at a moment's notice."
"We'll need that in the days to come, perhaps." I looked their way for a few more minutes, then continued on walking through the base. Now came the other large part of the ground forces, the definite part of the setting that went unmentioned. The unfortunates who usually were considered to be almost like ants beneath the feet of pilots.
Infantry.
And oh boy did Half Committee have a can of worms about that, by the standards of this universe at least.
It was best exemplified by the fact that we came across one such squad of them clearly on a shared smoke break outside their likely assigned barracks. Their helmets were off, some even using them as improvised stools to sit on, letting me see their faces beneath the opaque visors.
All one single face, shared among them all. Including the sergeant, who noticed the approaching senior officers and barked a single command. "Attention! Command present!"
The squad of clones instantly leapt to their feet and locked their posture, now at seemingly perfect parade rest. Seemingly, because I noticed that many of them still actually were holding onto still smoking cigarette buds. Probably to not waste what few they likely had with our supply lines presently cut.
My subordinate besides me noticed this as well and gave a wry smirk instead of the reprimand demanded by official protocol. "Sergeant. At ease."
"Yes ma'am!" he barked and his vat brothers relaxed slightly, though still standing in formation. "Awaiting orders, ma'am!"
"None whatsoever, you're on break and we're just having a friendly walk around the base to chat with the ranks. How's everything?"
"Ma'am, our status is nominal and prepared for engagement whenever, wherever!"
"More than that," I gently interjected, looking past the sergeant and at the soldiers behind him, the actual bottom rung of the armed forces. "How are you all doing? Getting enough at the mess? Enough rest?"
The men visibly shifted and fidgeted, slightly uncomfortably. Understandable, given that I held multiple social and organizational ranks above them, so it took time before one at least mustered the courage to speak to me directly. "T-the meals are fine. Could be better, but we also could be doing worse. Sir."
"A fair complaint." I nodded sympathetically. "Is it still plain rice for dinner tonight? Or boiled pasta?"
"I-it's white bread, sir."
"Yum. Does it at least come with butter or jam?"
"Um, jam. Sir."
"Oh, excellent! I'm hoping that mine comes with the blueberry packet."
"I prefer the strawberry myself," Rowles commented. "Much better than raspberry."
"But the raspberry ones are the best-" one of the grunts began saying before immediately clamming up, eyes wide when he realized he just argued against a senior officer. Back in the Half Committee, that would've been a write-up regardless of context.
Here, I chuckled openly. "Well, as long as it isn't kiwi-flavored, eh? Or don't tell me we've some lovers of that green sludge among us? If we do, I'll have to inform them my sludge tastes better."
It started out with some barely-restrained snickers, then escalated in a few blatant chortles. But still they maintained their discipline in standing in line, something that probably was drilled into them ever since they could form cohesive thought.
"Keep up the good work, everybody," I finished off with a brief salute that they returned. "Let me know if you've any issues, and report to Rowles if you spot any sludge lovers."
We moved on from there and I could hear the sergeant exhaling a sigh of relief, followed by a brief tirade about taste at his chuffed squad. The fact that there was clearly a difference in opinion about taste among them proved, in my opinion, that these clones weren't just 'organic robots' as so put by my former high command. They were each and every one of them people, individuals whose curse was only that they had been mass produced and born in vats for the purpose of war.
From what I recalled of Lancer's lore, flash cloning was absolutely outlawed by Union under the Third Committee. Mainly because it'd been what the Second Committee had abused to produce clone armies en masse, and that let others start accepting it as okay too. Even after SecComm had been ousted, the legacy lingered and still was a headache to be rid off, especially when megacorps still practiced it in private through deniable assets.
The Half Committee had been far more blatant with their employ of it, given how they'd declared themselves successors to SecComm. They used it primarily for the 'fodder' infantry armies, reserving things like crews and operators for enlisted recruits over those born and bred for dying in the mud. The argument then was that they couldn't waste the real talent of their weak interstellar state, that it was all in the name of ensuring the real citizens who served with distinction.
They didn't mention that for those who didn't make the cut to be a tank driver or mech pilot, they just get reshuffled to serve in logistics instead. Which admittedly was a safer posting, but in my opinion, still blatantly unfair to these flash clones. Even my previous noble self had taken issue, which was saying something, shying away from commands who really treated these clones like the disposable bodies military leadership had touted it to be.
Major Rowles thankfully was more of a sort of officer who cared more about how well you fought over where you were born. And in her eyes, the clone soldiers were every bit as a worthy of respect as an infantryman born the conventional way. "Not a single one of them left despite your offer, and any arguments to get them to leave from those officers who walked out was swiftly ignored," she half-bragged to me while we walked on. "Among my command, they're the ones who have been most unaffected by the measures we've had to take."
"As expected, but I wish that simply wasn't the case," I sullenly informed, causing her to blink.
"Sir?"
"They have been likely genetically edited or trained to raise less dissent and put up with even lesser. Which isn't right."
Rowles shifted uncomfortably, not having expected me to have gone on this little tangent. "Sir, you know that I fully agree with you in private that these troopers deserve more for their service. But right now, outside our ships, they're perhaps our most devout assets-"
"Until somebody with more senior leadership than me overrides them, like some other remnant of the Half Committee. What then?" I questioned, a bit forcefully. "Will all that loyalty of theirs simply transfer over, leaving us high and dry?
"What is the price of a loyal soldier who knows only to choose the state since his birth?"
Maybe I was being a bit unfair on my clearly bemused subordinate. I had seen a certain movie series in my own life, perhaps suffered a bit of bias from seeing clone soldiers turn on their supposed friends in a heartbeat. While I was pretty sure based off this universe that there wasn't any sort of microchip controlling their brains, there still was that ingrained genetic disposition alongside mental conditioning to just follow orders.
The major swallowed the difficult question down, then admitted, "I don't know, sir. I'm a soldier, and not one of them."
"Quite true. I just hope that one day, perhaps they will come to that same question and give it all due consideration it deserves." Alongside me helping to perhaps surreptitiously place a hand on that scale so that they'd look at me with just a bit more favor. "My apologies. I was perhaps a bit too forward."
"No sir, I think your care is warranted." She paused mid-step and gave me a salute that almost seemed to be a message. "Thank you for caring about us ground sloggers. Not many of that admiralty would have."
"I'm just a commander, trying his best. And I expect you to do so as well, especially in this new mission I have for you."
That prompted her to draw back up, serious. "Understood sir. What is my objective?"
"Veronica will soon send you a list of business and enterprises on Cavia who have been taking advantage of the previous administration to utilize slave labor."
She hissed like a cat. "The camps."
"Exactly. You are to confiscate and seize the property of those found guilty of such practice, as they have forfeited the right to continue business on-world."
Slavery in all but name just wasn't anything I would ever let fly. Not when with a bit more effort, you could make simple non-sentient robots to handle such tasks with the level of technology in this universe. To make sure that whatever next government didn't get any funny ideas as well, I'd have to come down hard and make an example of what could not be ever tolerated.
Rowles seemed to pick up on my eagerness and shared it openly. "We'll make sure they are utilized for the public good, sir. It'll be good to at least keep the boys and girls from getting too bored as well."
Ah yes, because if you thought bored soldiers were dangerous enough, now give those bored soldiers a mech.
Well, everybody had responsibilities to keep things functioning for now. That included me, who had to finish taking stock of what might very well be the only thing between our survival and orbital bombardment. Time to have a chat with my naval subordinates.